


Blackbird

by Milo



Category: One Piece
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But not enough to get a proper tag, Disabled Character, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frobin, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Parent-Child Relationship, Platonic Relationships, Slow Burn, mute character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 107,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milo/pseuds/Milo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter in the woods at midnight brings Officer Rocinante and the orphaned Trafalgar D. Law together, and about a dozen more keep it that way. Yet there's trouble brewing just under the surface in the form of untold secrets. Perhaps their encounter wasn't as random as they thought. And what's that about Crocodile?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by [Livvy](http://lithping.tumblr.com)!

                     

Park goers had reported something rather bizarre lurking in the woods after dark.

Various reports had come in—some claimed it was a large animal and others reported a suspicious person. The station knew that there were no animals larger than a raccoon in the area and decided to send Officer Rocinante out to scout for any weird activity. Which was how he ended up walking through the woods in the middle of the night with a flashlight in hand.

Fallen leaves and twigs snapped under his feet, echoing eerily in the dark. As far as Rocinante could tell, he was the only living thing out at the moment. He hadn’t seen anything or anyone yet, not even any of the usual nightly joggers. He yawned, pausing in walking to rub his eyes. Prior to being sent out, he’d had the wonderful, dull job of sorting through paperwork on the extended Dance Powder case which had taken up the last two hours of his day. He had been so ready to head home and go to bed.

Something in the bushes rustled. Rocinante halted in place. He turned around slowly, shining the flashlight on the bushes in question. They shook once more before going quiet. He stood there, trying to listen for any telltale animal noises. Nothing. He walked closer.

A cat walked out. It tiptoed over to him, tail ramrod straight, and circled around his legs. He sighed.

“What am I doing out here?” he muttered.

Then, something else moved. The cat scampered away in surprise. He turned to his right and directed the light to some rose bushes. That wasn’t a cat. He walked toward the bushes slowly, quietly. The movement stilled immediately.

“Who’s there?” he called out. The bushes did not move. He took two steps closer. “Come on out now.”

He flashed the light back and forth, trying to spook it into coming out if it was an animal. But nothing jumped out, not like the cat did. He got down to eye level with the bush and squinted. The bush suddenly jostled, then another rustled, and another. Whatever it was, it appeared to be large and moving. Rocinante followed it as it tried to make its escape.

Then it stopped, just as quickly as it started. The woods became silent.

Something leaped at Rocinante from behind.  


He dropped the flashlight. Sharp pain shot through his side. His breath hitched, but he reacted quickly and grabbed the offender before they could leave. His hands grabbed cloth—This was no animal. A small face looked up at him. It was a boy, probably no older than ten. His face was a combination of rage and terror, with tears staining his cheeks. He dropped the small knife he held in his hands and tried to scramble away, but Rocinante’s grip was too much. 

“Let me go!” he shouted. “Let me go!! I’m not going back! I’m not going back! You can’t make me!”

“Hey...Hey!” Rocinante tried to steady him. “I’m not going to make you do anything. What happened?”

The boy was panting heavily. He stared up at Rocinante, who was kneeling in front of him, with wide eyes. Once he realized that Rocinante had no ill intentions, he ceased trying to claw and pull away. His small frame was shaking. It was hard to see in the dark, but Rocinante could see that he was scratched up, probably from the bushes, and dirty. The boy wiped his nose with his arm.

“What are you doing out here this late at night?” Rocinante asked. “Did you get lost?” The boy stared downwards and said nothing. Perhaps the direct approach wasn’t the best.  “Could you tell me what your name is?”

Rocinante took his hands off of the little boy’s shoulders and stepped back to retrieve his flashlight, which had fallen into a leaf pile. He directed it back toward the little boy. He squinted in the light and blocked it with his hand. His clothes were dirtied, dirtier than they should have been, and pants were ripped.

Was it this little boy who had been spooking the townsfolk?

“Law.”

Rocinante blinked. “Hm?”

“That’s my name. It’s Law,” Law said.

“Well, Law,” Rocinante said. “it’s awfully late. I’m sure your parents are worried about you. Would you like me to take you home?”

Law sniffed.

“Gonna be hard to do that,” he said. “They’re dead.”

Rocinante opened his mouth and then closed it again. He honestly wasn’t sure how to reply to that.

“Oh,” he said. “I see…”

Now that he had calmed down a bit, Law was looking up at him less like he wanted to stab him again and more like he was going to cooperate. He was still crying, and still sniffling, but he was trying to pretend like he wasn’t doing either.

“Law,” Rocinante said again. “Would you mind following me back to the station?”

Law’s eyes widened. He eyed Rocinante’s badge fearfully. “You’re...you’re not going to arrest me, are you?” he said quietly.

“Arrest—Oh, no, no.” Rocinante shook his head. “I’m just--”

“I _stabbed_ you.”

Oh, yes. Yes, that had happened, hadn’t it? He touched the spot where Law’s tiny blade had penetrated the skin and winced when he felt warm blood through his shirt. The wound ached painfully in his side. But Rocinante ignored it. It wasn’t important right now.

“You look like you could use a change of clothes, Law,” he said. “And perhaps something to eat—Are you hungry? Cold? It’s kind of chilly out tonight, isn’t it?”

Law simply stared at him, mouth open in surprise. He fiddled around with the hem of his worn out T-shirt. “Um…” he said. “I-I guess I’m hungry.”

“We have some snacks back at the station,” Rocinante said.

Law nodded, but said nothing, nor did he smile. Rocinante had at least a dozen questions running through his mind--Why was this boy running around in the woods in the middle of the night? Who was caring for him if his parents weren’t? And, perhaps most importantly, why on earth had he been so afraid of Rocinante when he appeared?

But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that whatever Law had just gone through, it wasn’t good. Rocinante chose not to ask anything about it. At least, not until they got somewhere safe.

“Just follow me,” Rocinante said, “and I’ll lead you there, okay?”

Law discreetly wiped at his eyes before looking up at Rocinante again. Rocinante held out his hand to him which, after a moment of reluctance, Law grabbed. Law’s hands were tiny compared to his and fit awkwardly. Rocinante lead him back the way he came, slowly, carefully, being mindful of where he stepped lest he trip and send Law flying.

Law continued to stay quiet the entire time. He didn’t look at Rocinante, just down at the ground, and occasionally behind the two of them as if they were being followed. He shook violently.

“Hey,” Rocinante said, “so long as you’re with me everything will be okay.”

Law didn’t look like he believed him.

 

* * *

 

It was four minutes past one thirty in the morning when Rocinante hurried into the station with Law. The lobby’s lights were dimmed, the day workers long gone, and the only officer left in the building happened to be Smoker. Said person was reclining in his chair with his feet on the desk, apparently asleep.

But he cracked an eye open when Rocinante walked inside.

“The hell took you so…oh.” Smoker took his legs off of the desk and sat up straight in his seat when he caught sight of Law. Law looked back at him, trying to pretend that he wasn’t at all intimidated by Smoker. “Well, damn.”

“Have we gotten any missing child reports in?” Rocinante said.

“Just today you mean?” Smoker said. He rubbed his chin as he looked Law over, clearly surprised. “I don’t think so—Not from our immediate area, at least.”

“Could you check for me?” Rocinante said.

“Not a problem. I’m stuck here all night with jackass over there anyway,” he jerked his thumb behind him, in the general direction of the concealed holding cells down the left hallway. “Who am I looking for in particular?”

“Law. His name is Law.”

When Smoker left, Rocinante turned back toward Law, who was looking at his surroundings curiously. Rocinante tapped his shoulder lightly. “This way, Law,” he said, gesturing to the right. “I’m afraid we don’t have anything amazing in terms of food, but our break room has a vending machine. And we have a special machine for hot chocolate.”

“Okay.”

In the silence of the empty station, the hall echoed with the quick tap of small feet as Law struggled to keep up with the thud of Rocinante’s boots. Upon reaching the entryway, he flicked on the light—which took a moment due to the aged fluorescent lights—and walked inside. It was fairly clean, empty, and generally much unlike its daytime counterpart.

Rocinante patted on the arm of the couch. Law nodded, and climbed onto it.

“Is there anything in particular that you’d like?” Rocinante asked, going for the refrigerator. It wasn’t too packed, but there were some assorted things to eat. “We might have some sandwiches leftover from—”

“I don’t like bread,” Law said.

Rocinante looked at him. Law was scowling something fierce. He blinked twice. “Right, no sandwiches then,” he said.

“Can I have hot chocolate?” Law asked.

“Of course.”

Rocinante picked one of the tiny Keurig cups in the holder by the sink, placed it into the machine, and turned it on. For a moment he didn’t look at Law, instead choosing to watch the little machine in front of him work. There was so little that he knew about Law, so much he needed to know to understand just what had happened. But his sense of duty was being quashed by his want to not bring up something clearly distressing.

He picked up the steaming  cup of hot chocolate as it finished, being mindful not to burn himself in the process. Maybe he’d start with the simpler questions and eventually move on.

“...So, Law,” he began, carefully handing Law his hot chocolate, “how old are you?”

“I’m ten,” Law answered.

“Ten,” Rocinante repeated. “Already at the double digits.”

“Mm.” Law took a sip of the hot chocolate. He kicked his legs back and forth. “It’s not all that special.”

“No?” Rocinante said. “Why not?”

Law opened his mouth to answer when Smoker walked in the door. “We’ve got a match,” Smoker said, handing Rocinante a copy of the missing person's report. “Trafalgar D. Law. Says here he was reported missing a few years ago.” He paused to take a drag of the cigar in his mouth, then exhaled. “Also said that his family was found dead in their home after a serious monoxide gas leak.”

When Smoker said the word ‘dead’, Rocinante saw Law cringe, squeezing his eyes shut. Even though the event was technically old news, it was no doubt still fresh in Law’s mind, a wound that had not healed quite yet. Rocinante gave Smoker a knowing look, and Smoker decided not to speak any more about it.

Rocinante skimmed the details written down on the paper. He vaguely remembered reading about the incident in the newspaper when it had happened two years back; it had happened two towns over. Investigators had said that the case was unresolved; whether or not the leak had been purposefully started remained a mystery. But their oldest son, Law, had not been found in their home, nor had anyone seen hide or hair of him.

The picture on file matched Law almost perfectly. He had grown a bit, his hair was longer, face dirtier, but he had the same determined look. Rocinante couldn’t help but wonder where Law had disappeared to, and what events had led up to them meeting in the woods in the dead of the night.

He’d ask Law eventually. Just at a moment when he looked less miserable.

“Do we have anywhere he can stay?” Rocinante said.

“I’ll make a few calls,” Smoker said. “But he might be stuck here for the night. It’s pretty late.”

“Alright,” Rocinante said. He turned to Law. “Law, are you alright with that? Staying here for the night?” Law shrugged. Rocinante looked back at Smoker. “Where are we keeping the blankets these days?”

“There should be some in the—” Suddenly, Smoker did a double take. “The...what the hell—” he said. “Corazon, you’re bleeding!”

Rocinante looked down at himself. The original bloodstain was still warm and wet, staining his navy blue shirt. That stinging pain from earlier was now long gone, and now the spot was simply numb. He put a hand to it. In all honesty he’d forgotten about it, more concerned with Law than anything else.

“Ah...well,” Rocinante said, trying to conceal the wound. “I guess I am.”

“What on earth happened out there?!”

Rocinante glanced at Law, who seemed clearly ashamed of himself. “You know how it is. Clumsy old me,” he said. “I must have done it when I tripped in the woods. Remember, Law?” Law jolted, staring at him like a deer in headlights. “There was that metal fence post…”

“Y...Yeah…”

“Well, don’t just stand around like that! Sit down, dammit, and let me take a look at it.” Smoker said. He went off to rummage through the cupboards. “Where the hell did Tashigi put that first aid kit…”

Not wanting to bleed over their only couch, Rocinante settled down in one of the wooden chairs at the table in the center of the room. Law looked at him, and Rocinante could tell that he was silently conveying his thanks. Rocinante smiled at him and nodded.

“...Corazon?” Law said.

“Hm?”

“He called you Corazon.”

“That’s my name. Or, at least, what everyone likes calling me,” Rocinante said. “You can call me Cora, if you’d like.”

Law nodded slowly. Behind him, Smoker plopped the old first aid kit box on the table. Rocinante watched him pull various things from the box--band aids, gauze bandages, disinfectant wipes, some various odds and ends that Tashigi had probably thought ahead about. He tugged up Rocinante’s shirt from his pants, exposing the wound to the open air.

“You and your damned clumsiness,” Smoker muttered, wiping away some of the blood around the wound.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you can make it up to me by leaving and getting this thing sewn up right away before it gets any worse,” Smoker said. “I’m no doctor, but it doesn’t take one to see that this is serious.”

Rocinante sat up straighter. “What about Law?”

“Cora, I can handle a ten year old boy for a few hours til someone comes and gets him.”

Rocinante looked at Law. Law looked up at him, then at Smoker, appearing a bit uncomfortable about being left alone with some strange officer. “It’s not anywhere vital,” Rocinante said. “I’m sure it’s not—”

Smoker reached for his keys and jingled them in Rocinante’s face. “I _can_ and _will_ lock you outside this station.”

Which was a threat that Rocinante knew that he meant to act upon, if he put up any resistance. He sighed, defeated, and held up a hand. The wound wasn’t really that bad. Probably. Rocinante had dealt with worse injuries in the past. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for a fresh set of stitches.

“Fine, fine,” he said. “I’ll go make sure it isn’t infected.”

“Good,” Smoker said, moving around to the other side of Rocinante to clean the spot in the front as well. “Birds shit on those posts pretty regularly.”

Rocinante frowned at Smoker. “ _Smoker_.”

Smoker looked at Law. “Oh, yeah. Right. Sorry,” he said. “It’s true though.”

Once Smoker stepped away from him, bloodied disinfectant wipes in hand, Rocinante stood up. He tugged down his shirt again in a poor attempt to hide the wound that everyone in the room knew was there. It was lucky that the tiny knife hadn’t been larger, and that Law had no idea what he was doing, or where he was stabbing, otherwise Rocinante would have been in real danger.

“C’mon, Cora,” Smoker said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s go. You’re not healing any quicker here.”

As he made his way to the door, he gave Law one last look. It was strange, he thought to himself, how concerned he was for this little boy that he had only just met. Maybe it was because, when he looked into Law’s eyes, he couldn’t shake that sense of familiarity from days long past. It was almost like looking at himself.

Was that all there was to it? Some semblance of pity for his unfortunate situation?

“Law,” Rocinante said as he stood in the doorway with Smoker, “you’ll be alright. Smoker seems a bit rough, but he’s not that bad.”

Law watched him with a mixed expression that Rocinante wasn’t entirely sure how to read. Smoker gently pushed him out the door and guided him down the hall. Smoker knew him, and most certainly knew that he was foolish enough not to immediately go and get help when he needed it.

“I swear to god, this happens every other week with you,” Smoker said. “Trip on the rug, nearly kill yourself. Burn your mouth on coffee, get stuck in your own shirt, stab yourself on a _fence post_...you’re a walking hazard, Corazon. It’s a damn miracle you don’t set yourself on fire with your own cigarettes.”

Rocinante tried to laugh at this, but it came out a lot weaker than he would have liked. 

“It is what it is,” he said.

When they reached the lobby, Smoker halted. “Now don’t come back until you’ve gotten yourself all patched up, you hear?” he said. “I’ll tell Sengoku about what happened, so you take your time and rest up.” Rocinante nodded. “I’ll keep you posted on the kid, alright?”

Though he wasn’t ready to leave Law alone just yet, he did know that he was leaving him in good hands. Rocinante didn’t really know how to deal with kids much, after all. But Smoker, however, was a different story.

“Right,” Rocinante said. “Thank you.”

Rocinante trudged out of the station reluctantly, Law’s eyes focused on him from around the corner. Smoker rubbed his forehead and sighed. A deep, rumbly laugh came from one of the holding cells down the hall.

“Kuahaha!” the voice said. “My, my, how on earth did such a weakling manage to become an officer?”

“Shut up, Crocodile.”


	2. Chapter 2

As it turned out, no, Rocinante wasn’t infected. He did, however, receive a few stitches, painkillers, and a long lecture about getting plenty of bedrest to keep from tearing the wound back open again. The scar was going to be another ugly one, Rocinante could already tell. And of course he forgoed the recommended rest time and returned in under a day, arriving at the station around four o'clock. Smoker, as expected, wasn’t very happy to see him.

“The hell are you doing here?” Was the first thing Smoker said to him as he walked inside.

“I work here,” Rocinante replied.

“You’re supposed to be at home, preferably asleep in bed, not up and walking around,” Smoker said. “Hell, you could have taken the whole damn week off with how many vacation days you’ve got saved up.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to know what happened with Law.”

Smoker glowered at him for a moment before he sighed. “I got child services on the line and notified them of the situation,” he said. “Law stayed the night here with me. He kicked my ass at Go Fish three times before he fell asleep on the couch. He was out of here by six o’ clock. Are you happy now?”

He wasn’t, not really. Rocinante had been hoping to catch a glimpse of Law before he left. It was a shame, but it was what it was. Hopefully Law would be on his way to a new home, a new family, and could get on with his life.

“Do you know where he went?” Rocinante asked. “Are they taking him to foster care?”

Smoker shrugged. “Hell if I know. The woman who came and got him seemed like she knew what she was doing, so I didn’t ask,” he said. “I’m sure he’s fine, wherever he’s going. Law’s a tough kid. You worry too much for your own good.”

Rocinante sighed. “I know.”

“Now, seriously,” Smoker pointed to the door, “go home. If I catch you in here again, I’ll have Sengoku escort you out.”

Rocinante left the station without complaint after that, having gotten what he came for. But he wasn’t at all satisfied with that answer. He knew from experience that foster care was a wild ride at best, tolerable some of the time and unbearable the rest. And Law, he knew, was coming from a background of death, and at such a young age that would set him apart from other children.

And god only knew what had happened to him in that window of time that he had been missing.

He entered his tiny apartment feeling achy and light headed; his body was screaming for a cigarette. The doctor had recommended him not to indulge in this, but he was going to anyway. From a drawer in the kitchen he pulled out a fresh pack and his favorite lighter. He stuck one between his lips and flicked the lighter until it lit up. The scent of fresh smoke filled the apartment. Generally speaking, he tried not to smoke indoors. But it was a special occasion; he was miserable. He’d splurge.

The ratty old couch in his makeshift living room looked just about as inviting as the bed had earlier. He settled down on it and stretched out his legs. For a while he simply sat in silence, staring up at the old ceiling fan and a few odd stains, and found himself wondering why Law had stabbed him that previous night.

 

* * *

 

Law stayed on his mind for a week afterwards. But, as with everything else, Law was eventually forgotten in favor of more pressing issues.

Rocinante had to deal with drug addicts, drunk drivers, more paperwork than he could imagine, and was at the receiving end of Smoker’s screaming rant with Tashigi and three other officers when the man he’d arrested for drug possession was bailed. His wound healed, his stitches were removed, and the ugly scar that formed was only slightly less hideous than he imagined.

It wasn’t until three months later that he remembered Law again.

The weather was fair but breezy and Rocinante had trouble making the parking tickets stay on the windshields of two unlucky people who had been there long past what the meter had allowed. He recognized one vehicle belonging to a man by the name of Moria. He ended up chatting with Moria more than he liked about his various parking violations.

On his way back to his car, a woman had stopped him and told him about a little boy running around unsupervised through one of the pathways in the park. Which was odd, considering that it was Monday and school was in session. Following her directions, Rocinante ambled down a leaf-strewn path. It wound through the trees, around bends, and over hills, until he arrived at a small wooden bridge that went over a small river. It was there that he found the little boy in question. He halted in place.

There was Law, feet dangling over the side of the bridge and head peeking out between the bars. He threw rocks into the river, clearly bored out of his mind. Rocinante walked up to him quietly and leaned on one of the rails.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?”

Law looked up, startled, and then scrambled to stand up. “Mr. Cora!” he said.

Rocinante smiled a little. Well, at least Law remembered his name. He hunched down to look at Law at eye level. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “It’s barely noon, Law, what are you doing here?”

Law shrugged. “I didn’t want to go.”

“What? Why not?” Rocinante asked, genuinely curious.

Law ignored him. “Did that dumb fat lady tell you where I was?” he asked. “I told her not to, but I don’t think she listened. Cause she’s dumb.”

“That’s not very nice to say about other people,” Rocinante said with a frown. “Maybe I found you all on my own.” Law shifted his weight between his feet and looked back at the river. “Can you tell me why you’re out here all by yourself like this, and on a school day?”

“I just told you,” Law said, a bit more forcefully this time. “I didn’t want to go, so I didn’t go.”

“So you came here instead,” Rocinante said. “I guess it’s a good thing I was the one out here today and not Smoker. I can promise that he would have given you a good scolding for playing hooky.”

“But you won’t?” Law asked, looking hopeful.

Rocinante stood up again. “No, not today,” he said. “But I _am_ going to have to take you home and talk to your guardians about this.”

“What?! No! I don’t want to go back! It’s awful there!”

The response surprised Rocinante. He had hoped that Law had gone off to a friendly, loving household. But Law looked absolutely mortified at the thought of going back, which worried him. What sort of situation was he living in? And with what kind of people?

He’d just have to see what the situation was like for himself, wouldn’t he?

Rocinante clicked his tongue. “Well,” he began, “you’ve actually got two options.”

“I’ll take the other one.”

“So you want to go and talk to Smoker?”

Law’s eyes widened. “I…” he opened his mouth, then closed it. He twiddled his thumbs around nervously. “No.”

“Then will you let me take you home?” Rocinante said. “I promise I won’t yell at you. And since this is only your first offense, I’ll let you off easy.”

He and Law stood there for a while in silence, only the sound of the river breaking the monotony. Then, Law walked past him.

“Fine, let’s go already,” he said.

Rocinante followed after him with a chuckle. Law certainly was an interesting little boy. He’d only seen a little of his personality when they met the first time and was eager to see what Law’s guardians would have to say about him—if they had anything nice to say at all, that is.

Of course, he’d have to think about it later when he wasn’t tripping over his own feet and landing on the pavement, and subsequently scaring the hell out of Law.

 

* * *

 

Getting proper directions from Law was a pain to say the least. Law didn’t remember the street name, his address, didn’t want to give out any sort of phone number, and was spectacularly vague about where his neighborhood was approximately located. And there was no way to tell whether or not Law was lying about the directions. But Rocinante managed. He knew the layout of the town well enough.

When they finally reached the neighborhood where Law claimed to live, Rocinante turned to him again. “Which house did you say it was?” he asked. “You said it was the white one, correct?”

Law wasn’t looking at him, instead staring down at his shoes and gripping his seatbelt. He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess,” he said.

“Law.”

Law crossed his arms. “What?” he said.

Rocinante just looked at him and then shook his head. It was unusual for any child Law’s age to act like this around an officer. Especially not when they were caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing.

He turned into the driveway of a small white house with an old roof and a few small bushes in the front yard. Something about it was familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He got out of the car first, and found himself having to coax Law out. The grouchy expression on his face had on was telling; oh, yes, this was certainly the right house.

“This seems like a nice little home,” Rocinante said. “Why don’t you like it?”

“You’ll see,” Law muttered.

They walked up the worn wooden steps to the tiny front porch. Rocinante knocked four times on the door. Then, they waited. Law fidgeted beside him, seeming to grow more and more anxious by the second. Just as Rocinante decided he should say something to him, he heard the pitter patter of tiny feet running across a wooden floor. The door opened, and a little girl with red hair came to greet them.

“Yeah, whaddya want?” she said before noticing Law. Her eyes widened as large as she could muster, and she hurried away back into the house, leaving the door open. “Mom! Law did it again!”

Again? Rocinante looked down at Law, eyebrows furrowing. Law looked sheepish. The flurry of footsteps came again, this time accompanied by a more steady set. A familiar woman with pink hair uniquely styled in an almost mohawk appeared with her best disapproving parent face. Rocinante recognized her at once.

“Geez, Law, am I going to have to—”

“Bellemere?”

Bellemere paused and met Rocinante’s eyes. “Cora?” she said disbelievingly.

Rocinante grinned at her. “So Law’s living with you, then?” he asked. “I can see why he was so reluctant to come back here.”

Bellemere snorted and lightly punched Rocinante on the arm. “Really, it’s been how long and that’s the first thing you have to say to me?” she said. “Man, Cora, you sure know your way around women, don’t you?”

Law looked between them, surprised. “You…know each other?” Law asked.

They both looked at him at the same time and then back at each other.

“Something like that,” Rocinante said.

“I see you found my little runaway,” Bellemere said. “Where was he this time? A parking lot? The library?”

“The park, actually. Does he do this often?” Rocinante asked.

Bellemere sighed. “He didn’t used to,” she said. “But lately it’s all he wants to do. I’ve gotten a couple calls from the school already—” She paused as Law brushed past her and escaped into the house. Rocinante heard him practically stomp up the stairs, then heard a door slam and lock. “Hey!” she called. “No slamming the doors!”

“He sounds like he’s causing a lot of trouble,” Rocinante said.

“Most the time he’s fine,” she said. “He doesn’t cause any problems with my girls… Oh, do you want to come in?” She opened the door wider.

Rocinante nodded, and leaned down a bit to squeeze through the doorway. Bellemere’s home was small, too small for him to fit comfortably, but it was cozy. The little red-haired girl scurried away to hide behind a couch. She squinted at Rocinante and wrinkled her nose.

“Nami,” Bellemere said, “Behave.”

“What’s wrong with his nose?” she said.

Rocinante reached up and touched it. “My nose?”

“Yeah, it’s all long and weird and stuff.”

Bellemere frowned at Nami. Nami smiled and hurried away upstairs. “Honestly,” Bellemere said. “What am I going to do with her?”

“Is my nose really that big?” Rocinante said, rubbing it. “I’ve never really thought about it that way.”

“It’s fine, Cora,” she said. “It looks just fine.”

Bellemere settled down on one of the two couches in her living room, gesturing for Rocinante to sit down as well. He did so, noting the decor. The house was clearly occupied by children, the teal walls of the living room scratched and dented, the floor was covered in a little girl’s doll set, and a stack of no fewer than ten board games was against the wall near the TV. The TV itself was framed with old VHS tapes and one old VCR player that had seen better days.

“Hard to believe that this is where Law ended up,” Rocinante said. “I thought he was taken out of town.”

“Oh? So this isn’t your first time meeting him?” Bellemere said, interest piqued.

Rocinante shook his head. “No, we’ve met once before. It’s…” he absentmindedly touched the spot where he had been stabbed. “It’s a long story. I happened to be in the right place at the right time. I’m glad he’s in good hands.”

“For now, yes,” Bellemere said, nodding. “I’m sorry to say he won’t be able to stay here forever.”

Rocinante looked at her. “No?”

“I’m not going to kick him out anytime soon, don’t get your underwear in a knot,” she said. “I know you’re sensitive about this sort of thing, but I—”

“I’m not sensitive about it. I just know what’s going to happen. I’ve lived through foster care, Bellemere, and being pushed from one house to the next isn’t enjoyable,” he said. “Is this his first house?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I had some space, and I was making enough, so I took him in. I don’t think Law likes it much here, though.”

Rocinante hummed. Though Bellemere’s house was quite friendly and welcoming, he could understand where Law was coming from. It was a home, but it wasn’t _his_ home. This was a family, but it wasn’t _his_ family. He wondered just how much Law knew about the situation, and whether or not that was the reason he was distancing himself from everyone.

“Could you...tell me more about him?” Rocinante said. “We didn’t really have much time to talk when we met last time.”

“Well,” Bellemere started, “he’s a moody kid. Doesn’t like talking much, keeps away from everyone. I’m never really sure what to do with him. But…”

“But?”

She smiled. “He does really well at school,” she said. “He’s big on reading, does all his homework ahead of time, and honestly he’s really smart. We went to the library last week and I caught him peeking at medical textbooks. Also, he’s got this weird thing about--”

“About bread?” Rocinante said with a smile.

Bellemere laughed. “Oh my god, he _despises_ it!” she said. “And he won’t even tell me why he hates it so much. He keeps trying to hide all our bread where he thinks nobody can find it.”

Rocinante chuckled a little. It was strange, sitting here, chatting with Bellemere so casually again. How long had it been since they last met up and talked like this? Years? He couldn’t even remember. And now here she was with a few children of her own. She’d gone on and made herself a life without him in it. Did she have a husband? A boyfriend? Was the father of Bellemere’s girls lingering around somewhere? The thought didn’t sit well with him, but he ignored it.

“You said you have girls, as in more than one,” Rocinante said. “I’ve already met Nami, so how many…?”

“Oh, it’s just me, Nami, and Nojiko,” she said. “And Law, of course. It was just me up until recently. But you know how it goes.” She waved a hand. “You find a couple of kids on the street, they burrow into your heart, next thing you know you’re stepping on little plastic army men and have ten thousand tiny mismatched socks.” She laughed. “I guess I got lonely after I put down my badge.”

“It’s not quite the same without you, you know,” he said.

“Of course you’d say that,” she said. “Hey, how is old Smokey anyway? He still gives tours of the station, right? Do the kids still put stickers on his ass when he’s not watching them?”

“And Tashigi still takes pictures of it,” he said.

“Man,” Bellemere said. “I miss it there sometimes. I ought to drop by for a chat once in awhile.” She sighed. “When was the last time we all got together, anyway? Or even just as the two of us?”

“It’s been a long time.”

“What happened to us, Cora? We used to be so close.”

Rocinante went quiet. They both knew the answer to that question. He said nothing, and she decided not to say anything either. The silence was broken by the sound of the old air conditioning unit rattling to life. Then, suddenly, he heard Nami yelling and Law snapping back at her. Bellemere’s face turned from solemn to stern.

“Hey...Hey!” she said, getting up from her spot. “Augh—Sorry Cora, I have to—What’s going on up there?”

Rocinante just nodded empathetically as Bellemere disappeared up the stairs to take care of whatever was happening. He couldn’t hear much of their conversation, only Bellemere’s voice, Nami crying, and Law furiously trying to make a rebuttal. He looked back at the stacks of toys in the living room and rested his head in his hands, wondering to himself how Bellemere even handled three children.


	3. Chapter 3

The day after his reunion with Bellemere, Rocinante recounted the tale to his fellow officers with a wide grin on his face, leaving out no details. Smoker noted how strange the coincidence was while Tashigi simply laughed and commented that she needed to drop in herself and see Bellemere’s girls. They both asked about Law and noted how he and Rocinante seemed to keep bumping into each other.

It was strange, really, but Rocinante dismissed it as pure chance. They lived in the same small town; of course they would run into each other from time to time. Every so often he would catch Bellemere and the children out and about; at the grocery store, in the park, while on walks. Law had also become adept at seeking him out, while he was working or otherwise. Rocinante wondered if Bellemere was giving the boy too much freedom, but, he supposed, it wasn’t his place to judge her parenting.

That, and he did enjoy meeting up with Law when he had the time. Like today, for instance.

It was Rocinante’s day off. He decided to go out to stock up on cigarettes and other miscellaneous items when he happened to spot Law out by himself on the street. Law walked up to him, showing no signs of being nervous or uncomfortable, which was nice. Then Rocinante remembered the date and made a face.

“Law, it’s Wednesday--”

“We had a half day today,” Law said. “I got to leave early.”

“Alright, fair enough,” Rocinante said. “Does Bellemere know you’re here?”

“I told her I was going for a walk after school and she said it was okay,” he said. “So long as I’m home for dinner.”

Rocinante squinted at him before he took out his phone. He searched for Bellemere’s number and typed out a quick message. Law rolled his eyes dramatically.

“I want her to know where you are,” Rocinante said. “Just in case.”

Law kicked a stone on the sidewalk, “It’s not like anyone’s going to try and kidnap me while there’s a cop around,” he said. “She won’t care. She knows who you are.”

Which was true. But Rocinante still wasn’t Law’s guardian by any stretch of the imagination and the last thing he wanted was to send Bellemere into a panicked frenzy because Law stayed out too late. He sent the text. Within a couple minutes, Bellemere texted him back.

“She says it’s fine.”

“I _told_ you.”

“Ahaha...no harm in being extra careful though, hm?” Rocinante said, starting to walk again. Law matched his pace. “So, how was school today? Did you learn anything interesting?”

“We just talk about the same dumb things over and over.” Law said. “And Bellemere mixed up my lunch with Nojiko’s again. I had to throw most of it away.”

“What was in it?”

Law stuck out his tongue. “A _sandwich_ ,” he spat out, as if that was the most disgusting thing he had ever said in his life. Rocinante stifled a laugh. “Bellemere says that it’s good for me, but I don’t believe her. Bread’s just plain evil. Just ‘cause it’s good for you doesn’t mean I have to eat it. Broccoli’s good for you, too, but it doesn’t hurt to eat that. I can eat that all the time instead!”

Hurt? Rocinante looked down at Law as they walked, surprised. It hurt him to eat bread? If that was the case, then Law’s bread aversion suddenly made sense. Though he didn’t despise bread, Rocinante was gluten intolerant himself and knew first hand how miserable the aftermath of eating bread could be.

“Law…Are you...Did your par—”

“Hm?” Law said in response.

Rocinante shook his head. No, no. He didn’t want to bring up Law’s family. He’d talk to Bellemere later about getting him to see a doctor. If Law was gluten intolerant, the sooner the better.

“Where are we going, Mr. Cora?” Law asked. “And what’s in that big grocery bag you’ve got there?”

“Oh! Right.” Rocinante rummaged through the contents. “These are just some things I need to survive the— _augh—_!”

He cried out as he hit an uneven patch of sidewalk, stumbled, and righted himself with the aid of a lamp post. An orange flew out of the bag, smacked dully against the pavement, and rolled off. Law quickly retrieved it. The orange had a large, noticeable smashed side now.

“I think it’s dead,” Law said, handing it to Rocinante.

“A shame,” Rocinante said, looking it over. “Lucky for me, I have four more in here.”

“Is that what you’ve got in there? A bunch of fruit?”

“There’s also some frozen dinners,” Rocinante dug through the bag absentmindedly, “...Some raw vegetables, a head of lettuce, cabbage, um—”

“Wait,” Law cut in, perking up, “does this mean we’re going to your house, Mr. Cora? Do you live nearby?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I live in the apartment complex on the edge of town, just a few blocks from here. That’s why we’re walking.”

Law looked excited at the idea of seeing Rocinante’s home. Rocinante knew, however, that it would ultimately be a disappointment. His furniture was older than Bellemere’s, the walls were barren. It wasn’t even a “bachelor pad”, let alone a home. It was more of a place where he ate and slept.

Law would probably ask about the padding on the sharp corners of cabinets, or why there were all sorts of “abnormal” things laying around. Or maybe he’d be preoccupied with the television. Rocinante _did_ have cable; that would buy him enough time to tuck away some of the less impressive things in his home, to brush the bottles of pills into a drawer.

They made their way into the complex, making for the elevator. The last thing they needed was a grocery disaster in the stairwell.

“Do you live with anyone?” Law asked.

Rocinante pressed the button for the second floor. The elevator doors closed in front of them. “No, it’s just me,” he said.

“Huh.”

The elevator rose and stopped almost as quickly as it began. It dinged, opened, and they walked out and to the right. Rocinante dug through his pockets in search of his keys, which simply didn’t want to be found. When he did locate them in the pocket of his heart-covered shirt, he huffed. When had he put those there?

“I’m afraid it’s not much to look at,” Rocinante said, opening the door. “But it’s home.”

Rocinante entered first. He shuffled inside, setting down the groceries to take off his shoes. Law hurried past him.

“It smells awful in here,” Law said. “Like...like _smoke_.” He looked at Rocinante with a frown. “Was something on fire in here?”

Ah, yes. That had been him trying to fry an egg this morning.

He had been doing well until his shaky, nicotine addict hands dropped the frying pan he was holding and some of the egg went onto the stove. Somehow, someway, he’d ended up on fire, and another burn was added to the dozens he’d gotten from previous cooking battles. He rubbed his arm, which was bandaged up carefully. Law didn’t need to know that story.

“It’s, uh, nothing to worry about,” he said. “I took care of it hours ago.”

Law wandered into the living room and disappeared. Rocinante took his groceries into the kitchen and quickly tucked each item away into its proper location. He hid the cigarettes in the drawer underneath a few old pads of paper. He wanted to relax and smoke outside on the balcony but he didn’t want to do it with Law around.

“Law, do you want anything to drink? Eat?” Rocinante called. “I know you didn’t eat much for lunch.”

Law didn’t answer. Rocinante walked out into the living room and found him rummaging through his bookshelf. His little fingers pulled each book out from the shelves delicately. The he would scrutinize the cover before then he put it back and grabbed another book.

“In most cases, you ask before you start picking through other people’s things,” Rocinante said, startling Law, who looked down at the book in his hand guiltily. “But I don’t mind. They’re just books.”

“What’s this one about?” Law asked, holding out the book in question.

Rocinante took it from him and read the cover-- _Living with Ataxia_ \--and felt a twinge of shock. His skin crawled with nervousness. Of course Law had to pick up _that_ one. With a shaky hand, he put it back on the shelf.

“Ah,” he said. “That’s...not something I think you’d enjoy reading.”

“Why not?” Law pressed, but Rocinante ignored the question.

“I have some novels in the bedroom if you want something to read,” Rocinante said. “But first, is there anything you want for a snack?”

Law tried to convince Rocinante that he wasn’t hungry, and that he didn’t need anything to eat, but eventually he caved and ended up eating some celery with peanut butter. He also took interest in the fact that Rocinante owned a working DVD player as opposed to the dated VHS player Bellemere had.

But Rocinante’s selection of movies wasn’t the best for a ten year old. He ended up giving Law the television remote and permission to pick whatever he wanted to watch. Law chose a medical documentary.

“Are you sure you want to watch this?” Rocinante asked. “It might get a bit gross later.”

“Uh-huh. I know. I don’t care.”

The documentary was clearly meant for adult viewers; it was filled with long disease names and medical jargon that even Rocinante wasn’t entirely familiar with, and the content that followed wasn’t exactly child-friendly.

But Law watched it with the same interest another little boy might have had in watching an action film or his favorite cartoon. He interest remained even into clips where the surgeon showed the procedure being done in real life (which Rocinante couldn’t bear to watch, lest he feel sick to his stomach) and a question loomed in Rocinante’s mind.

“Do you want to be a doctor, Law?” Rocinante asked him.

Law nodded confidently. “My parents are doctors,” he said. Then, he went quiet. His face formed to a small frown and he stared blankly ahead at the TV. “...Well, they _were_ doctors,” he said softly. “Before they died.”

“We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to,” Rocinante said.

“It’s okay,” Law said, still looking rather upset. He pulled his legs up onto the couch and hugged them. “...They took me to work with them sometimes. And...my dad used to show me his medical stuff. We had a lot of books in our house. He got all happy when I said I wanted to be a doctor too.”

The TV droned on while Law talked, but he didn’t seem to be paying too much attention anymore.

“What were they like?” Rocinante asked softly. “Your family.”

“They were kinda busy,” Law said. “They worked all the time, ‘cause that’s what doctors do. But we always got to do things together on Sundays. There was this restaurant we’d always go to every week, and...and Lami and I always played a lot after school…There was this big field behind our house that we always went to...and—”

Law sniffed. He took a moment to scoot away from Rocinante a bit on the couch, as if he was trying to make himself smaller.

“...I-I went outside...the night that they died. There was a really big frog outside my window a-and I wanted to go get it—I guess I took too long...E-Everything was fine and then I came back and…”

His lower lip trembled. Law was trying his hardest not to cry. Rocinante reached out and rubbed his back. Law burrowed his face into his arms.

“It’s okay if you want to cry, Law,” Rocinante said.

“Boys _don’t_ cry,” Law said, though it was more of a rasp than anything.

“Sure they do,” Rocinante said. “Everyone does. I do.”

Law sniffed again. He looked up at Rocinante incredulously, and Rocinante saw that his eyes were watering. “But you’re a cop,” he said.

“Cops cry too,” Rocinante said. “Just like everyone else does. We’re human, we all get sad.”

Law was trembling and rubbing his eyes. “...Promise you won’t tell anyone?” he whispered.

Rocinante drew an X shape over his heart with his index finger. “Cross my heart,” he said.

Not a moment later, Law’s resolve finally broke down and he sobbed into his knees, furiously wiping at his eyes and nose while trying to keep quiet about it. Unsure of what else to do for him, Rocinante simply continued to rub his back reassuringly. He couldn’t think of any words of comfort. At least, not anything that would be helpful to Law.

 

* * *

 

The evening ended on a quiet note; Rocinante returned Law to Bellemere’s house after the two of them watched several movies on television. Rocinante offered Law sweets later on, even though he knew they would spoil Law’s appetite, in an attempt to make him feel a little better. They were home later than Bellemere would have liked, but Rocinante accepted the blame. She invited him to dinner, and he sat awkwardly on the stairs next to the table where he ate his bowl of pot roast.

A week later Rocinante’s suspicions were confirmed when Law had a doctor’s visit and it was discovered that, indeed, he was gluten intolerant. After Rocinante became aware of Bellemere’s monetary troubles, and that buying special food for Law might become a problem, he took it upon himself to help out.

Uncommon sightings became weekly visits, and soon enough Rocinante found himself taking Law to the grocery store with him in order to pick out things to eat for lunch. Law, it seemed, took it upon himself to remember Rocinante’s schedule and all of his days off. Their time spent together wasn’t anything exciting; Rocinante took him to the park, the bookstore in town, and bought some movies that Law liked. But both of them always enjoyed their time together.

Slowly but surely, Rocinante began to come home and notice that his dark, empty little apartment had a new light in it; Law left his jacket at Rocinante’s house all the time, Law came over to escape Nami and Nojiko, Law read his old, oversized books on his couch.

And, it seemed, Rocinante always had something new to say about Law when he went into work each day.

“Hey, Corazon,” Smoker called to him on one particular evening. “You planning on adopting that kid?”

Rocinante looked up over his computer. “Hm? You mean Law?”

Smoker raised his eyebrows. “Is there some _other_ kid out there that you gush day in and day out about?” he asked.

Rocinante felt his face flush and he chuckled. “Ahaha...I suppose not.”

“I’m serious, Cora. These past few months, that kid is the only thing you talk about,” Smoker said. “His stuff’s all over your house, you drive him places--hell, have you showed up to his parent-teacher conferences yet?”

“No, of course not—!”

“Didn’t you buy him a whole bunch of things for Christmas, too?” Tashigi asked from the other side of the room.

Rocinante groaned. “Yes—And I _still_ can’t believe I forgot about his birthday…”

“In your defense, he never did tell you about it,” Tashigi said.

“And from what I can remember, he didn’t hold it over your head,” Smoker said. “I don’t see what the problem is here.”

“Well, I--” Rocinante opened his mouth, closed it again, then swallowed. “I—I mean, it’s not as though I _don’t_ want Law to come live with me, but I’m not exactly a model parent. I chain smoke, I can’t cook, or clean very well, uh, I’m really, _really_ clumsy—”

“You can’t help that,” Tashigi and Smoker said in unison.

“Still, it’s a major problem,” Rocinante said with a stern look. “An embarrassing problem.”

“Cora, I really don’t think Law minds,” Tashigi said.

“He doesn’t mind because he doesn’t _know_ about it,” Rocinante countered.

“Er-hem.” Smoker cleared his throat. “I hate to be the bringer of bad news but,” he began, “isn’t Law due to move on to another family in a couple months or so?”

Rocinante turned to look at Smoker, alarmed. So wrapped up in everything else, he’d forgotten that Law wasn’t a part of Bellemere’s family, not really, and that in time he would have to leave again. Bellemere had expressed that he wouldn’t be able to stay right off the bat.

“Oh...oh, that’s right, isn’t it,” Rocinante muttered, suddenly at a loss for what to say.

“I’m sure you’re enjoying playing house with Bellemere, but it’s not going to last forever,” Smoker said. “The chances of him staying in this town are slim, Cora. What will you do when he has to leave?”

He felt sadness, anger, and ultimately frustration bubble up inside of him. Rocinante didn’t want to see Law go, didn’t want him to be forced into a new, unfamiliar environment with people who wouldn’t understand him. Would those people understand his loss, and that even years later it still affected him? Would they be understanding of his gluten allergy and be willing to fully accommodate him?

He clenched his fists and unclenched them over and over. He hadn’t even known Law for very long--could he really do something like adopt him? Was he ready for that kind of commitment?

“I...I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“Think about it, but don’t take too much time,” Smoker said. “It’d be a shame to see him leave. Law’s a good kid, you know.”

Rocinante smiled a small, wistful smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “He is.”

 

* * *

 

One particular evening after work, Rocinante knocked four times on the door to Bellemere’s home. About a minute later, the door cracked open, but only enough to let a pair of eyes peer out. Nami looked him up and down before narrowing her eyes.

“You gonna pay the toll?”

Rocinante blinked, putting on his best surprised face. “Oh, no, there’s a toll now?” he said, sounding genuinely shocked by this.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s one whole dollar. And if you can’t pay it, you can’t come in.”

Rocinante heard a loud groan from inside which he attributed to Bellemere. “Nami, just let him in.” she said.

“It’s fine. I don’t mind,” Rocinante said.

He shifted one of the grocery bags to his other hand and dug in his jacket pocket for his wallet, from which he extracted an old dollar bill. When handed the slightly wrinkled dollar bill, Nami perked up, eyes sparkling and face breaking out into a huge grin. She then glanced at the door, frowned, and then looked back up at him.

“Gee, sorry mister,” she said. “But it’s _two_ dollars now. Don’t make the rules, just here to carry ‘em out.”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Bellemere suddenly appeared over her and opened the door for Rocinante. She made a face at Nami, who only smiled and tugged her freshly earned dollar. Bellemere shook her head as Nami hurried off, no doubt to brag to Nojiko about her prize.

“Sorry about that, Cora,” she said. “Nami’s in a bit of a phase right now.”

Rocinante simply chuckled. “She certainly is bold for her age,” he said.

Once inside the house, Rocinante made his way to the kitchen. He put set the plastic grocery bags down on the table. Two sets of tiny feet ran across the floor. Rocinante glanced at them; Nami and Nojiko were standing on their toes, trying to see what was in the bags. Bellemere did a double take at him before frowning.

“Cora, _no_ ,” she said. “I already told you not to go out and buy anything for them.”

Rocinante said nothing, instead working on pulling out the contents of the bags. “I didn’t bring much,” he said. “Just a few things for Law and some--”

“Tangerines!” Nojiko yelled excitedly.

“I got dibs on the first one!” Nami said, her hand shooting into the air.

“You got dibs last time!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Hey, hey, you’ll both get one. It’s not a contest,” Bellemere said. Rocinante handed each of them one tangerine from the box. The two then hurried to their adoptive mom, both holding their prizes out to her so she could peel them, which she did easily.

“Where’s Law?” Rocinante asked as the girls returned to where they were playing in the living room, peeled tangerines in hand.

“Oh, the same place as usual. His room.” Bellemere pointed to the ceiling. “He’s been awful moody lately, doesn’t want to talk, takes his food back up with him. I’m sure seeing you will cheer him up.”

“I’ll try and talk to him, I suppose,” Rocinante said.

Bellemere walked to the stairs. “Law!” she called. “Cora is here!” A pause. Law didn’t come out of his room, or acknowledge the comment. “Law?”

Bellemere made a face and then turned to Rocinante with a shrug. Rocinante simply smiled and headed up the stairs. Law was probably invested in something or other. He had given him a few new books, after all.

“Law, it’s me,” Rocinante said, knocking at the door. The door moved under his hand; it was open. “...Law, I’m coming in.”

The tiny room was empty. Law’s desk still had homework on it, unfinished homework, which Rocinante knew meant that Law was probably still nearby. Law never liked leaving things half finished. He stepped into the room and looked around at Law’s posters. He had one from a children’s television show Rocinante wasn’t familiar with, and another which he recognized as one of Bellemere’s old band posters.

A thump came from the bed.

Rocinante turned toward it. He looked on and around it, and, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, then opted to hunch down and look underneath it. Somehow, Law had wedged himself in the tiny gap between the bed and the floor, and he seemed inclined to stay down there.

“What’re you doing down there all by yourself, Law?” Rocinante asked, laying himself down on the floor to better see him. Law turned away to face the wall. “I was hoping we could talk a little.”

“About what?” Came Law’s grumpy voice.

“For starters, I’m curious about why you’re down there.”

“I like it,” he said. “It’s better down here.”

“Are you sure? You seem kind of cramped,” Rocinante said.

“It’s way, way better down here. If I come out, all you grown ups are going to send me away. Don’t say you won’t--I heard you talking about it. I’m not stupid you know.”

“I never said you were, Law. I think you’re very smart,” Rocinante said. “And for the record I do care a lot about you--”

“No, you’re just here cause you have to be. Cause you think I’m gonna skip school again, or--or stab someone else,” Law said. “That’s why I’m here in this stupid house too. Cause I have to be. Bellemere doesn’t want me to be here. If she did, then she wouldn’t be sending me away again.”

“Law,” Rocinante started, “it’s more complicated than that—”

“Is it?” Law snapped. “You don’t want me around either! That’s why you’re not doing anything about it! I’ll bet you’re _glad_ that I’m leaving!”

Shocked into silence, Rocinante found that he didn’t have anything to say in response. He simply looked at Law empathetically, which had little to no effect on him, as Law couldn’t see him.

“Law—”

“I’m gonna run away,” Law said. “Far, far away from here where nobody can find me. Away from Bellemere, away from stupid Nami, and away from _you_.”

“I’d miss you, though.”

Law scrunched up. “Well _I_ wouldn’t miss _you_ ,” he said. “Not at all, not even once!”

The comment stung. Law was only saying it because he was upset, right? Rocinante decided he liked that answer best.

“Is that what you did before? Run away?” Rocinante asked. “Is that why nobody could find you for two years?”

“I _didn’t_ run away—Ow!” Law turned under the bed, bumping his head on the wooden frame. He rubbed the spot. “I didn’t run away! I didn’t!!”

Well, that answered that. Rocinante’s eyebrows rose. That was what he’d imagined had happened, that Law had disappeared from his home, gotten lost, and had been living on the streets. His clothes and skinny, weak body had seemed to convey that. But now the mystery had thickened--where _had_ Law gone off to?

Law glared at him in his best attempt to be menacing before looking away, tense body loosening up. The room went quiet again as he simply breathed in and out through his mouth and rubbed at his nose. Rocinante could see now how visibly upset he was.

“Where did you go, then?” he asked. “Where were you staying for those two years?”

“I...I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Cause I _can’t_.”

“Well...Can you at least come out from down there?” Rocinante said. “I won’t send you away, Law. I promise.”

Slowly but surely, Law crawled out from under the bed. His hair was flattened where he had been laying on it and it stuck up in weird places, as if he hadn’t brushed it in a few days. His eyes were red and he seemed quite ashamed of himself.

Smoker’s words echoed in Rocinante’s ear. Law was just as torn up about leaving as Rocinante thought he would be. For a moment he looked at Law, and recalled a time when he was only eight years old—when he had heard one of his foster families talking about arrangements to send him away.

He couldn’t let this happen.

“See, that’s a little better isn’t it?” Rocinante said. “You’re not all smashed down there now.”

“...Mr. Cora?”

“Yes?”

“You...Why aren’t you mad at me for hurting you?” Law asked, voice growing quieter as he talked. “You didn’t even yell at me, or hit me.”

Rocinante blinked. Law looked off in another direction. “Well,” Rocinante said slowly. He placed a hand on Law’s head. “You were scared, Law. I don’t think you knew what you were doing that night. I’m sure if we had met under different circumstances, you wouldn’t have done that.”

Law looked up at him as if Rocinante had said something unbelievable, and maybe he had. But Rocinante meant every word that he said. He gave Law a kind smile. Law shifted on his feet.

“I thought you were someone else,” Law said.

Rocinante blinked. “Hm?”

“When I stabbed you,” Law said, “I thought you were someone else.”

Rocinante blinked. “Who did you think I was, then?” he asked.

Law looked at him with a stern expression.

“Someone evil,” he said.


	4. Chapter 4

The front door to Rocinante’s apartment shut behind him. Finally alone, he let out a long sigh of relief. He’d waited for over an hour to speak to child services and then it took another hour of talking, explaining, trading paperwork, and more talking to even get anywhere. Rocinante felt like he left a good impression on the man with whom he spoke to, but he still had several more hoops to jump through.

He looked at the paperwork in his hands; background checks, health checks, reference letters, classes for preparation—the list never seemed to end. But it would be worth it, if he passed all the tests. He was feeling rather optimistic about it, too. Surely with a letter of reference from the chief of police he wouldn’t have any trouble bringing Law into his home.

Rocinante settled in the armchair and switched on the television, tossing his coat over the couch as he went. Law had set it to the Discovery Channel; Rocinante didn’t bother changing it. He didn’t really pay attention, instead choosing to use the television as sufficient background noise to drown out the day’s thoughts. He tugged at the collar of his button up shirt and ended up undoing several of the buttons. The room was stuffy and the old ceiling fan didn’t do much to help him cool off.

There was still so much more to do on top of the technicalities of adoption. In the meantime, he’d have to work on clearing out his apartment, make space in the spare room that was currently being used to hold all of Rocinante’s old things. Furniture, he’d need some new furniture to suit Law, an improved supply of gluten free foods—oh, and he’d need to sort out an improved schedule to suit Law better. It wouldn’t do to leave him stranded, no matter how well he seemed to get on by himself.

But, perhaps the most important matter, would Law even _want_ to live with him? Rocinante rubbed his face. Law had expressed how he wanted to stay, and did seem to like him. But there was a difference between spending the occasional day together and living in the same home.

Rocinante looked at his watch—four o’clock. That meant Law would be arriving home from school soon. He would probably make his way over to Rocinante’s house within about fifteen minutes. Maybe he’d ask Law to help him clean up.

He allowed himself another five minutes to rest before he finally got up, stretched, and headed into the kitchen. Rocinante had offered to let Law stay the night, since it was a Friday, and give Bellemere some time off from dealing with his grouchy attitude and general dislike of everyone around him. Law would probably be hungry.

...But Rocinante was also terrible at cooking. The last thing he wanted to do was have Law come back to a flaming apartment. Maybe he’d wait. Or order takeout.

Exactly sixteen minutes later, Law showed up at the door. He had his overnight bag in his left hand and his backpack slung over a shoulder. Rocinante welcomed him in with a smile and Law promptly dropped his things on the couch as if he lived there already.

“What’s for dinner, Mr. Cora?” Law asked.

“I thought I’d let you decide,” Rocinante said. “What do you feel like eating?”

Law looked thoughtful for a moment. “How about pasta?” he suggested. “That’s easy to make.”

A pang of guilt went through Rocinante. From prior events, and probably some simple deduction, Law had figured out that Rocinante couldn’t cook worth anything. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but Rocinante still found himself embarrassed about it. He fiddled around with a stray piece of hair.

“We can have something else if you want. We don’t have to make it just because it’s easier.”

“I like pasta,” Law said. “Besides, last time we cooked something else your sleeves caught on fire.”

Another stab of guilt. Rocinante laughed nervously while Law gave him a knowing smirk. “I’ve never been very good in the kitchen,” Rocinante muttered.

“It’s okay, Mr. Cora,” Law said, rocking back and forth on his feet. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

Using their last box and a half of gluten free pasta, Rocinante and Law created a simple, but effective, unconventional spaghetti dinner using what was left of a bag of mixed vegetables and some old marinara sauce. The box of bandages, still on the counter from last time they cooked, was empty after Rocinante insisted on cutting the vegetables himself.

They ate their meal in relative silence as they watched a few episodes of some crime show. Law had taken an interest in them after first hearing about some of Rocinante’s adventures on the job and now it had almost become a ritual for them. That, and Bellemere was pretty strict about what Nami and Nojiko got exposed to. He only had the opportunity to watch them while with Rocinante.

Throughout the show, Rocinante found himself looking at Law with mixed emotions. On one hand, this was the child he might soon be inviting to stay in his home permanently, a fact Law was unaware of, and he felt excitement growing within him.

On the other hand, he was going to have to sit Law down at some point and talk more seriously about his two missing years. That was something he wasn’t allowed to overlook, now knowing that it wasn’t a simple runaway case.  He wasn’t sure how Law was going to take that.

“How was school today, Law?” he asked.

Law shrugged. “Same as always,” he said. “I saw Mr. Smoker hanging around in the office today.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. Why was he there?”

Rocinante paused to try and come up with a good answer. “To make sure nobody was in trouble,” he said finally.

“Was anyone in trouble?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.”

A little after seven, and the end credits of the show played, Law dumped the contents of his backpack out on Rocinante’s table. Rocinante hovered nearby in one of the table’s matching chairs with a novel in hand just in case Law needed any help. But Law kept quiet almost the entire time, his presence only noticeable through the scribbling sound that his pencil made.

Occasionally, Rocinante would glance over his book to check on Law, who would look back at him for a second before continuing.

“So, you guys are studying rocks?” Rocinante asked.

“Yeah,” Law said.

“Is that interesting? I don’t remember much about rocks.”

“It’s okay. But I heard we get to dissect frogs next year. I really want to do that.” Rocinante scrunched up his nose. Law smirked. “And—I _also_ heard we’ll get to touch them and stuff, and take out their insides, and that they’re really smelly—”

“That’s disgusting,” Rocinante said. “I can’t believe you still do that.”

Law giggled to himself quietly. He glanced at the book in Rocinante’s hand. “What’s _Crime and Punishment_ about?” he asked, pointing at it.

Rocinante glanced at the cover, and then at Law. “...Crime, and also punishment.”

“Is that all that cops read about?” Law said, eyebrows furrowed.

“I read about other things, too. I just happened to be reading this.”

Law huffed and went back to his science homework. “Well that sounds really boring,” he said. “You should read something else.”

Rocinante chuckled. “Maybe next time I will.”

A little after eight thirty, and Rocinante was pulling on the metal frame of the couch’s pull out bed while Law fetched some bedsheets from the closet. The bed was old and a bit creaky when sat on, but Law never really complained about it.

“Hey, Mr. Cora? What is this?”

“Hm?” Rocinante turned to look at him. “What’s what?”

He froze. In his left hand, Law held a haphazardly folded pile of purple bedsheets. In the right, a relic that Rocinante could have sworn he’d banished away to a box in the spare room; his black feather coat. Law shook it a little, and the black feathers of the coat seemed to wave to him in greeting. For a moment, everything else in the room save for Law and the coat disappeared.

“Where did you get that?” Rocinante demanded, too quickly and too forcibly for his liking.

“I found it in a bag behind the old humidifier in the closet,” Law said. “It smells really gross. What even is it?”

Rocinante quickly stepped over and gently took the coat from him. It reeked of stale cigarette smoke and burnt feathers. He rubbed the coat between his fingers. It was still soft. He shut his eyes, took in a deep breath, and then exhaled.

“It’s a coat,” he said. “Just an old coat. That’s all.”

Law asked him a couple more questions about the coat, but Rocinante didn’t hear him, as he was already on autopilot headed for the spare bedroom. He walked inside and switched on the light. The room was piled full of old boxes, old clothes, and old furniture. All of these things together seemed to create the odd smell lingering in it.

“Wow, this room’s really messy.” Rocinante looked down. Law was peeking inside the mysterious spare room from behind him. “Don’t you ever clean it?”

“I haven’t, not in a long time,” Rocinante said. “I might ask you to help me clean it.”

“Sure, I can do that,” Law said.

With a bit of reluctance, Rocinante went inside and laid the feather coat over a box of aged magazines. The arms of the coat drooped down over the sides. His gaze lingered on it for a moment more before turning away from it. He wanted to burn the coat. Or donate it to some other unfortunate soul. But it stayed there, just out of sight, the little blackbird on his shoulder that never left.

“Why don’t you get ready for bed, Law?” Rocinante said. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

Law made a face. “Why do we have to go to the zoo, though?” he said. “It’s just a bunch of smelly animals in dumb cages.”

“But Nami and Nojiko like it,” Rocinante said.

“Well, they’re dumb too.”

Rocinante made a face at him and Law made one right back. Then, he ushered Law out of the messy room, turned the light out, and closed the door behind them. The couch bed was fitted with sheets and both of Law’s favorite blankets while Law went off to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. When he returned, he plopped down on the bed, which groaned under his weight, and he snickered to himself about the noise. Then, he looked up at Rocinante, who was about to leave.

“Mr. Cora?” he said.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering...do you have any family?” Law asked.  “I was gonna ask you before, but I forgot.”

Rocinante’s breath hitched. He looked at Law, who was staring at him expectantly. “Um...I suppose that’s a bit of a long story…” he said, trailing off. The look on Law’s face was begging him to go on. “And it’s not really all that happy either.”

“I wanna know,” he said. “I told you about my family, I wanna hear about yours.”

“Well...alright. Fair’s fair,” Rocinante sat down on the bed. “Where do I start…”

“At the beginning,” Law said.

Rocinante hummed. “My father was a wealthy man and my mother was kind and warm. I also had an older brother named Doffy. For a while, I believe, things worked out well for us. But...” He sighed. “Well, first we lost mother to an illness. No matter how much money my father paid, nor how many treatments she went through, she still passed.”

“Oh…” Law looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t really feel too upset about it,” Rocinante said. “I was too young to remember her much. But my father and brother took it much worse than I did. My father fell into a deep depression after her loss, and my brother was…” he paused, “...He never really was the same after she passed. He would always shout at my father, blaming him for her death, calling him names. Something changed inside him.”

Or maybe it was always there, he added silently, and he was simply too foolish to notice it.

“Our broken family fell on hard times, my father quickly began losing money, colleagues, our home, and soon enough we were having trouble putting food on our table, and eventually, good places to sleep at night. Child services finally intervened.”

“So you’re like me,” Law said.

“Yes. I was put into foster care like you were, but I was even younger at the time. I passed from family to family, and eventually I became unadoptable. When I turned eighteen, I left the system and…” Rocinante paused, was silent for a full minute, before he smiled and continued. “Well, that’s not important. Sengoku found me in a rough place and took me under his wing, and now I’m happy.”

“Did you ever try looking for them?” Law asked. “Your dad and brother?”

Rocinante nodded. “I did,” he said. “I held onto the hope that I would be able to see them again, all those years, and the moment I became an adult I set out searching for my father. I found him later.” He blinked. “Or...I suppose, I found what remained of him.”

Law gaped at him. “What?” he breathed.

“He was shot dead in the apartment he was living in. I was shocked when I found his obituary in a paper,” Rocinante said. “The case went unresolved, the trail went cold. I was frustrated about it for years—I still am frustrated about it.”

Which was an understatement. Rocinante had been inconsolable, furious, and for years had spent every waking moment trying to figure out who had killed his father. He had spent ages going down dead ends, interrogating possible murderers, and wallowing in his own misery. It had been all encompassing in his early adulthood. It ruined relationships, damaged friendships, and in some cases was still a sore spot in conversation.

His father was kind and loving, he hadn’t deserved to die like that. No matter the circumstances.

“What about your brother? Did you find him?”

Rocinante closed his eyes. “I did,” he said. “But...I think that’s a story for another time, Law. It’s getting late.”

“Aww.”

Law laid back in the bed, bringing the pillows down flat with him, and Rocinante pulled the covers over him. “Remember, if you need anything I’m right in the other room,” he said, pointing to the door of his bedroom.

“Okay.”

With that, he turned out the light in the living room. Rocinante made his way to the bedroom, grabbing his prefered sleeping clothes, before heading off to the bathroom. He closed the door quietly so as to not disturb Law. He shed the shirt he was wearing and paused before pulling on the clean one.

Looking at himself in the mirror was always a bit tragic. Without a shirt, every single scar, every little secret was exposed. He trailed his fingers down what once were gashes on his shoulders and slices on his arms. Three bullets were forever immortalized on his skin by means of ugly rounded scars on his chest.

Law was a curious kid by nature. Someday in the future he’d catch a glimpse of Rocinante, of the scars, and every single intricate detail that made him hideous. Someday, he’d be asking about them.

But there were some things that Rocinante simply couldn’t talk about.

 

* * *

 

Fitting the five of them into Bellemere’s minivan wasn’t the difficult part. No, it was the fact that they had to drive for a full hour in the car with three children who didn’t always get along. Nami spent the first twenty minutes bouncing up and down in her seat with excitement while Nojiko tried, and failed, to restrain her. Law was determinedly ignoring them in the back with his Gameboy Advance in hand, a present from Rocinante last Christmas.

“Are we there yet?” Nami whined. “It’s taking too long.”

“We’re about halfway there, Nami,” Bellemere said.

Nami puffed up her cheeks. “But it’s been so long already!” she said. “How am I supposed to know when we get there?”

“You’ll know when you’ll know.” Was Bellemere’s response, to which Nami let out a long, irritated groan. “Why don’t you find something to do? I think there’s some coloring books back there, right?”

“I _already_ colored in those, Mom,” Nami said.

“Hmm—Oh, how about a road game?” Bellemere said. “We could spot for cars.”

“I don’t wanna spot for cars. I wanna spot for elephants and giraffes...and lions and tigers and—”

Rocinante was only half paying attention to the conversation, as his body was nagging him for its daily nicotine fill. He shifted and fidgeted in the passenger seat, staring out the window as he tried not to think about it. He counted the mile markers as they passed the car one after the other. It didn’t help much.

“I hope the seats aren’t too uncomfortable,” Bellemere said.

“Oh, no, they’re fine,” Rocinante said.

“Really?” she said. “You look like you’re sitting on a bunch of cheerios.”

Rocinante forced out a chuckle. “Aha...if only,” he said.

Realization dawned on Bellemere’s face. She turned toward him, face neither judging nor upset, and perhaps this was even worse than if she had been angry with him. “...You should really think about giving that up, you know,” she said quietly. “It’s not good for you, nor anyone around you.”

“I know,” he said, in an equally hushed voice. “But it does help. Really it does.”

He went quiet, and stayed quiet, gaze returning to the roadside. The car passed under a bridge, the brightness of the sun temporarily dulling and the noise of the wheels against the pavement echoed in his ears even louder than before.

“Just...think about it, okay?” Bellemere said. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “It’s a new decade of your life. Things are going to change.”

Rocinante decided not to say anything, not interested in spilling too many of his inner thoughts. But the air was still awkward and uncomfortable, and he found himself holding his breath. The silence was filled only moments later when Nami loudly complained about her seatbelt, and he exhaled in relief as the conversation drew away from him once more.

It took exactly twenty six minutes longer to reach their final destination.

The second they got their tickets, Nami was scampering away into the crowd with Nojiko following after her, asking for her to slow down. They weaved in between families and couples alike, past children with balloons, all the way to what appeared to be a butterfly house.

“Mom!” Nami yelled. “Me an’ Nojiko are gonna go in here okay?”

“Alright—But wait for us inside, okay? Don’t go too far!” Bellemere called after them.

Law trailed along by Rocinante, carefully examining their surroundings. He looked generally disinterested in what was happening and occasionally squeezed the pocket in pants where he’d put his Gameboy, as if he was prepared to find himself a bench and play games all day.

“Is there something you’d like to see, Law?” Rocinante asked.

“Not really,” he said.

Rocinante grabbed himself a map from one of the little stands outside the butterfly house and opened it up. The zoo was laid out fairly evenly, with more than its fair share of interesting animals. Bellemere hovered behind him, standing on her toes to see it properly.

“Oh, Law!” Law perked up when Bellemere called to him. “They’ve got polar bears around the back of the zoo!”

Law’s interest was suddenly perked, and he hurried over to snatch the map out of Rocinante’s hands. He held it close to his face, squinted at the colored paper, and then his eyes widened a little.

“Can we go there?” he asked. “I want to see them.”

“Sure. But there’s still plenty to see before we get to them,” Bellemere said. “We’ll make our way around to the bears, okay?”

Law looked at Bellemere, then at Rocinante and frowned a little. Then, he folded up the map and walked toward the butterfly house. “Okay,” he said. “Whatever.”

The doors to the butterfly house were large, large enough for Rocinante to walk in without having to duck down, which he was thankful for. They were also lavishly decorated with at least four different species of butterfly, colored in various shades of red, orange, pink, and blue. Upon entering he found the butterfly house was quiet and peaceful, unlike how some of the later exhibits would be.

The room was filled with tall plants, a few trees, and more flowers than could be counted. Nami and Nojiko, with their bright colored hair, almost blended in with the surroundings as they weaved through the foliage on the hunt for butterflies. They passed Bellemere and Rocinante, shushing them—with the reasoning of “the butterflies like it quiet”—before scampering away.

Law stood out against the colorful backdrop, with his monochrome clothes and indifferent expression. He looked at the plants as if he had seen them every day of his life and walked off without a word. Rocinante decided to follow him, and the two happened upon a few little windows. In them were caterpillars in various stages of life, from freshly hatched to chrysalis .

“I want to open it,” Law said, pointing at the large chrysalis in the display case.

“You shouldn’t,” Rocinante said. “There’s a living creature in there. It’s busy changing.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s why I want to pick it open. I want to see it.” He registered the mild shock present on Rocinante’s face and shrugged. “It’s just one butterfly. There’s another million of them flying around already.”

“Law, I don’t think—”

Nami gasped. “Mr. Cora!” she said. “There’s a huuuuge butterfly on your head!”

Rocinante tried to glance up, but he couldn’t see it. “Really?” he said. “What does it look like? How big is it?”

“It’s soooo big and blue and—!” Nami turned toward Bellemere, who was approaching them on the little path with Nojiko. “Mom—Mom look at the butterfly! It really likes Mr. Cora!”

Rocinante grinned and laughed, feeling the small insect wiggle around in his hair. “I-I hope it’s not planning on nesting in there,” he said. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain to the zoo staff that their butterfly doesn’t want to stay here anymore.”

“Butterflies don’t make nests, Mr. Cora,” Nojiko said.

“Yeah!” Nami chimed in. “But if they did make nests, they’d totally nest on _Law’s_ head—Cause it looks just like one! Right, Law?”

Law made a face at her. Nami stuck her tongue out at him. The butterfly left Rocinante’s hair and fluttered in front of him, showing off a brilliant orange and blue pair of wings.

The zoo map ended up being rotated between the five of them as they all decided where they wanted to go next. It was a three against two decision to visit the zoo’s resident crocodile population as the three children had seen the animals on TV and all agreed that they would be interesting to see in real life.

The crocodile pit, which appeared to be a very fitting name for the rounded cement enclosure with too-high walls, was full of crocodiles. Some laid on the cement with their mouths wide open, while others appeared to be fast asleep. Only a single one was moving, albeit slowly, and soon it disappeared into the murky pond that they were provided. Nami was too short to see over the railing, so she ended up squinting through the wire mesh.

“Huh,” Law said, resting his head on the railing. “I thought crocodiles would be more interesting. But they’re all so fat and lazy. I’ll bet they don’t even do anything.”

“It’s pretty hot out,” Bellemere said, “I don’t blame them for wanting to be a little lazy.” She looked down at Nami. “Doesn’t a nap in the warm sun sound nice, Nami?”

“Ice cream sounds better,” Nami replied. “Can we get ice cream, mom?”

“Well…” Bellemere trailed off, glancing toward a nearby pavilion where a family of four happened to be walking out with ice cream cones.

“Please?” Nojiko cut in. “Please please _please_?”

“I wouldn’t mind some ice cream myself,” Rocinante said. “Why don’t we go get some? My treat.” Bellemere looked at him with the full intent of dismissing this idea but Rocinante shook his head, having none of that. “I insist,” he said. “We’re here to enjoy ourselves, right?”

The comment earned him two interested grins, one curious glance from Law, and one eye roll from Bellemere.

“Ice cream, ice cream!” Nami said, jumping up. “I want the orange cream kind--Mom, do they have the orange kind?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

After they’d decided on their choices of ice cream, Rocinante and Law volunteered to go inside. The girls picked a blue table with a rainbow umbrella situated next to a large oak tree. They chattered about the butterfly house, about the penguin display they’d be headed to next, and looked at each other excitedly whenever an animal in the distance let out a low bellow.

Everyone save for Bellemere cackled like a pack of hyenas when Rocinante stumbled over a hose and his chocolate-vanilla twist ice cream cone went all over his face—especially when he made an overly silly face and said, “Not again!”

They set off for the next exhibit shortly after the last cone was devoured. The road to the polar bears was a slow one, and Rocinante could tell from the way Law twitched, squirmed, and determinedly said nothing about the majority of the interesting animals they passed that he was getting impatient.

“They should move the bears to the front of the park,” he said. “This is taking way too long.”

“There _were_ bears in the front,” Nojiko pointed out.

Law scowled at her. “Those were _black_ bears, Nojiko. Polar bears are different.”

“I never knew you liked polar bears so much, Law,” Rocinante said.

“They’re my favorite,” Law said.

“I see,” Rocinante said. “What do you like about them the most?”

“Hmm...well, for one they look really soft,” Law said. “But they’re also really big and strong--they’re the _apex_ predators of their environment. They can take down seals, and walrus, and even other bears. And they’re really, really good swimmers.”

“You sure know about a lot of things, Law,” Rocinante said. Law grinned up at him.

When they reached the exhibit, Law disappeared from Rocinante’s side and ran to the rail, squeezing in between two adults who happened to be there, and ignoring Rocinante’s attempts at telling him to be polite.

There were exactly three bears on display in the polar bear exhibit, two of them lazily resting in the sun, blinking their eyes in an effort to keep themselves from falling asleep completely, while the third was scratching itself on a tree growing in the pen. But, much unlike the crocodiles, Law was staring at them as if they were doing circus tricks.

The sign claimed there were supposed to be four polar bears in total. Further reading showed that one of the bears had recently given birth to a cub, a little male polar bear, and that the mother and cub were moved off site for the time being to ensure their safety. The zoo provided a picture of the newborn cub, which was taped to the enclosure and laminated for protection from the elements. Law stared up at it with a small grin.

“It says here they’re taking suggestions for what to name it,” he said to Rocinante, voice hinting at excitement.

“Oh?” Rocinante said. “Do you have any ideas?”

Law nodded several times. “I want to name it Bepo.”

“That’s a cute name for him. I like it,” Rocinante said with a smile. He picked up a card and a little wooden pencil from the box provided. “Maybe, if we all chip in, they’ll name him that, huh?”

This made Law smile widely, and he grabbed enough little suggestion sheets for all of them. Nami protested, saying that Bepo wasn’t really a name, but Law convinced her to do it after bribing her with some of his allowance. They all stuck the suggestions in the little clear box, which was already packed full of suggestions.

“Do you think they’ll do it?” Law said.

“Maybe. I guess we’ll just have to cross our fingers and wait to see,” Rocinante said.

Law crossed his fingers so that there were two sets on each hand. Rocinante suppressed a chuckle and simply smiled down at him, crossing his fingers for some extra support. Law smirked as if their diabolical plan couldn’t possibly fail.

It was late when they left the zoo, the sun was setting behind them as the five of them  wandered back to their car. Nami, exhausted from all the excitement, had passed out on Bellemere’s shoulder within the last half hour of their visit. Nojiko, too, was tired from the visit and walked slowly alongside them, holding Rocinante’s hand. Law walked ahead of them, Gameboy Advance making an appearance once more. The light reflected on his face and faint music played from it that drifted behind to the four of them.

Rocinante walked side by side with Bellemere. They chatted casually about some of the less important things in their lives, about Bellemere’s jobs, about the friends that Nami had made in school. She told a story about a man she worked with who had made Nami laugh with a little pinwheel in his hat, and about a rowdy customer who never failed to make her day a little worse.

At some point she reached out and took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers together. She smiled up at him and he returned it. Nami let out a groan on her shoulder, yawned, and then turned her head to the other side. The ride back home, Rocinante noted, was far more comfortable than the ride out had been, and not simply because of the fact that Nami was fast asleep.

 

* * *

 

Three weeks later, Law printed out a page from the zoo’s website and hurried to show it to Rocinante. It announced loud and proud that they’d named the baby polar bear “Bepo”. Rocinante put it on the fridge.


	5. Chapter 5

There was exactly one week until Law left for his second foster home. Rocinante had exactly one week to spend with him before he would disappear from his life for an undetermined amount of time.

He still met up with child services every so often, still took classes, filled out paperwork, and basically did everything in his power that wasn’t getting on his knees and pleading with them. There was still the risk that he wouldn’t be able to adopt Law even after putting in so much effort; yet Rocinante had hope that things would work themselves out. And he was going to tell Law about what he had in store for him whether or not he succeeded.

In preparation for Law, Rocinante had ordered a new set of furniture for the living room and made plans to clear out his second bedroom completely. Should Law end up with him, that would be his room. And that last thing he wanted was for him to feel cramped in a small space. He’d recruited Bellemere, who had some free time after leaving Nami and Nojiko at a friend’s house, and asked her to bring Law along.

They arrived sometime in the afternoon. The moment he arrived, Law made a beeline toward Rocinante. He noted that the couch was turned at an irregular angle, and looked up at Rocinante expectantly. When Bellemere entered, she gasped dramatically and put a hand to her mouth.

“Oh thank _god_ , you’re finally getting rid of that ratty old thing,” Bellemere said. “I can’t believe you even kept it this long, Cora.” She ran her hand across the fabric on the back of it. “Geez, it’s coming apart even from back here.”

“Don’t insult my couch,” Rocinante said. “You liked it back when I first got it.”

“That was back when it wasn’t screaming in pain from having been slept on ten thousand times,” she said. “I’m not completely sure, but I think this couch is even older than Law.” Law’s eyes widened, and he looked at the couch, bewildered, as if its age had honestly never occurred to him. “There you go, my point exactly.”

“It’s not _that_ bad—”

Bellemere snickered. “I’ll bet the right cushion still stinks like coffee.”

Law quickly pried said cushion from the couch and shoved his face into it, inhaling deeply. Then, he pulled his head back sharply and stuck out his tongue. Bellemere laughed at his expression. “Ew!” he said. “It _does_ smell like coffee!”

“That’s...that’s because it soaked through the cushion,” Rocinante said. “It went through the cover and into the padding. I tried so hard to clean it, but the smell never really went away. I stopped noticing it a while back, though.” He put a hand on the armrest. “It may be an ugly old couch, but it has a lot of memories.”

He looked at Bellemere knowingly when he said it, and she giggled, blushing slightly as she avoided his gaze. Rocinante chuckled a little. Law looked between the two of them and squinted, before shaking his head at the two ridiculous adults in the room. He pushed the smelly cushion back into place.

“Hey, Mr. Cora?” he piped in, drawing their attention. “Is your new couch going to have a bed in it?” Rocinante shook his head, and Law frowned. “Then where am I gonna sleep?”

“Well...” Rocinante trailed off. He looked between Bellemere and Law, and then flashed a smile. “About that. There’s something I wanted to discuss with you, Law.”

Law’s expression turned sour. He looked down at the carpet under his feet and scowled. “Is this going to be another talk about leaving?” he asked. “Cause _she_ ,” he pointed at Bellemere, “already told me about that. And I said I didn’t want to go.”

Rocinante sat down on the old, ugly couch; it creaked under his weight. He patted the spot beside him for Law to sit down and he did so, albeit grudgingly. “That’s not actually what I wanted to talk about,” he said. “While it’s true that you’ll be somewhere else for a while, you’ll be coming back before too long.”

Law brightened. “Really?” he said. “But...I thought Nami said she was going to get my room. She even moved all her stuffed animals in there already.” He looked at Bellemere. “I’m not going to live in the basement, am I?”

Bellemere laughed. “Ahaha—No, no.” She put her hand on Law’s head. “As fun as it would be to have you around again, kiddo, I’m not the one who’s taking you in.”

She turned his head to face Rocinante. He blinked.

“Mr. Cora?” he said.

“That’s right,” Rocinante said. “I want you to come and live with me. Are you okay with that?”

Law stared at Rocinante in disbelief, mouth agape. He looked back at Bellemere for confirmation, and she nodded. “...Really?” he said to Rocinante. “You want me to come and live with you? Why?”

“Why not?” Rocinante asked.

Law’s face flushed. His small hands gripped his shorts and he bit down on his lip, whether to hide a smile or not, Rocinante didn’t know. Law’s eyes became misty, and he had to look away to rub them.

“I...I said all those things,” Law said, voice wavering, “back then, that I wouldn’t miss you or anything…a-and that you wanted to send me away...why do you want me to stay here with you?”

Rocinante’s face softened. He reached out and poked Law’s nose with his index finger. “Because I love you, Law,” he said.

He wasn’t really sure what happened next, between Law openly crying, and him blubbering, and Bellemere embracing both of them and saying they were idiots for crying so much; everything seemed to blur together. At some point they moved the armchair and a shoe rack, and some other odds and ends from the floor to make way for the couch.

Even though he couldn’t do much, Law insisted on helping them carry it. According to him, he’d slept on it, and used it too, and therefore he had to help move it. There was a brand new spark in Law’s eyes, like the one when he saw at the picture of the baby polar bear at the zoo, and Rocinante couldn’t help but smile. Law was happy.

Getting the couch through several doors wasn’t the tricky part. It was getting it down the stairs that was troublesome. Rocinante had to be careful not to trip, lest Bellemere lose her grip and cause the couch to fall on him. Each step down the concrete steps in the stairwell was shaky. Law hovered around him, occasionally nodding and telling him where to move, or where a railing was.

They set the couch out by the dumpster near the road with a sign reading “FREE” that was written in Law’s slightly sloppy handwriting on a piece of cardboard from a cereal box. Bellemere dusted her hands off and congratulated them on a job well done before she headed back into the complex.

For a moment Rocinante’s eyes lingered on that ratty old couch and his heart swelled with nostalgia.

It was that stupid couch he’d seen one evening at the end of someone’s driveway with a sloppily written “FREE” sign on it when he was short on cash for food, let alone furniture. He hurt himself when he and Sengoku moved it into his apartment, and had later joked about it. So many nights he’d come home only to pass out on that couch. He’d first kissed Bellemere on it in the heat of the moment when she had come to him upset.

Rocinante smiled sadly at it. It had been a tough call, getting rid of the old thing.

“Hey! Hey, Mr. Cora!” Rocinante turned away from the couch and toward Law, who was waving at him. “If you don’t hurry up, Bellemere’s gonna throw out all the rest of your old stuff, too!”

“I’ll be right there!” Rocinante said. “Don’t let her get carried away!”

Law hurried away back into the building. Rocinante’s eyes fell upon the couch one last time and, for just a moment, he swore that there was a glimpse of wispy pink feathers fluttering in the wind.

 

* * *

 

It was ten o’clock pm on a Monday night. Rocinante was parked on a small dirt road off the highway where there had apparently been one too many speeding cars. He yawned. Smoker was in the driver’s seat looking as if he was sitting on a cactus.

“I hate late shifts. I’m not built for this kind of thing,” Smoker said. “It’s too damn quiet, I always end up dealing with some drunk yahoo, and they always, _always_ pair me up with someone weird when Tashigi isn’t around. No offense, Cora.”

Rocinante shrugged. “None taken,” he said. “You two compliment each other better.” A car passed them on the road. Rocinante pulled the trigger on the speed gun. Forty miles per hour. “What did she say she had to do?”

“Some kind of family emergency. She didn’t want to go into specifics.”

“Huh.”

“But that’s not why I’m _really_ pissed,” Smoker said, taking a drag of his cigar. “You know what the headline of last week’s paper was over in Alabasta?”

“What?” Rocinante asked, shooting another car with the speed gun. Forty two miles per hour.

“It said, ‘Mayor Cobra congratulates Crocodile for public service’. He donated some huge wad of cash and now everyone’s drooling over him. It claimed Crocodile was a model citizen. A model citizen! Can you believe that complete and utter bullshit?”

“Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf,” Rocinante said.

“Crocodile? Turning over a new leaf? Are you kidding me?” Smoker shook his head. “That man was born bad and will _stay_ bad until I find him dead in a ditch on some old country road.” He pulled the cigar from his mouth to exhale. “I’m telling you, Corazon, it’s a damned set up. An act to make him look good. What I don’t understand is _why_ he’s doing it.”

“Smoker, I really think you need to take a break from that case,” Rocinante said. He picked up his now cold coffee and gave it a tentative sip. It tasted awful. “Take a vacation. Bring Tashigi, too. She keeps falling asleep at her desk.”

“I don’t need a damned vacation!” Smoker snapped, pounding his fist on the dashboard. “What I need is to see Crocodile behind bars for good, that stupid grin off his ugly mug.”

Rocinante looked at him, but Smoker was too busy having a glaring contest with an old oak tree on the other side of the road. A little red Mini Cooper passed them by. Rocinante clocked it; Forty five miles per hour.

“Why don’t we talk about something else, then? To get your mind off of it,” Rocinante suggested.

Smoker let out a long sigh. Then, after a thoughtful moment, he asked, “How’s the kid settling in at your place?”

“I think Law’s really happy living with me. At least, he seems to be in much higher spirits than when he was living with Bellemere,” Rocinante said.

“Can’t believe it took them seven months to make up their damn minds.”

“That’s how it works; It’s a long, difficult process,” Rocinante began. “But it’s over now. Law has a permanent home. We moved in a new set of furniture last weekend and polished up the spare bedroom to make it his own space.” He chuckled. “I couldn’t believe how many things I had stuffed in there.”

“Things pile up as the years go by,” Smoker said. “What can you do?”

“Do you remember that old hat I used to wear? The red one with the heart tassels?” Rocinante said, glancing at him. The second he mentioned it, Smoker rubbed his eyes. “I found that inside a paper bag buried in the back of the room. I’d thought I lost it years ago.”

Smoker groaned. “Oh, god, not that hat again,” he said. “That and the ugly heart shirt you always wear—It was better off forgotten, Cora.”

Rocinante frowned. “Sengoku gave me that hat,” he retorted.

“Yeah, well, I think we all know by now that Sengoku doesn’t make the best fashion choices.”

A car rushed past them with a dizzying speed. Rocinante clocked it just before it disappeared around the bend. Seventy three miles per hour. He exchanged a surprised look with Smoker.

“That was a 1980 Cadillac,” Rocinante said. “Do you think it was—?”

“Fuck, I think so.” Smoker started the car and the sirens booted up. “Dammit, Moria!”

 

* * *

 

Some weeks later, after the newness of Law living with him had worn off, Rocinante found the privacy of his bedroom invaded for the first time. The door opened with a groan and it took him a moment to even open his eyes. He blinked multiple times before letting out a groan of his own. The room was dim, with the sunlight filtering in through the blinds. He closed his eyes again.

What felt like seconds later, he heard knocking at the door. He shook himself awake, picked his head up from the pillow, and looked toward the doorway. Law was peeking into the room. The little clock on the nightstand red 8:14 AM in glowing red letters. Too early for a Sunday.

“Law?” Rocinante said with a yawn. “Is there something you need?”

“Um,” Law shifted on his feet. “I made breakfast.”

As if on cue, the smell of freshly cooked bacon and eggs filtered into the room. Rocinante opened his eyes a little wider. His stomach rumbled a little. His eyes were pleading with him to go back to sleep, but he was also hungry, and so he was at an impasse. He sat up and rubbed his face.

“That was awfully nice of you,” he said.

“I just made it,” Law said. “So if you don’t come and get it right now, it’s gonna get all cold.”

“Okay. Just...just give me a moment.”

With a nod, Law withdrew from the room, closing the door behind him. Rocinante let out a long sigh and stretched out his arms. Law was a morning person; Rocinante, however, was not. Had he been allowed, he probably would have slept into the afternoon. But it wouldn’t do to let a nice hot breakfast made with love go to waste.

And so he pulled himself out of bed and readjusted the shirt and pants that had moved in his sleep. He wobbled around like a drunken deer as he tried to get used to being awake. Then, he opened the door and trudged down the hall to the living room, rubbing his eyes and squinting.

Law had set the table, and not just with the plates of food and utensils. Each spot had been meticulously made up with all of the utensils in their proper place, napkins tucked under them. Law was already seated. He looked at Rocinante and gestured at the plate opposite him, which was covered in a simple cheese omelette and two pieces of bacon.

“Wow, Law,” Rocinante said, sitting down. “I’m impressed. What’s the occasion?”

“I just wanted to do something different today,” Law said. He stabbed a piece of bacon with his fork. “Besides, you always make breakfast for me, so I wanted to try making something for you, too.”

Rocinante picked at the omelette in front of him, cutting it into smaller pieces and yet still managing to make a mess of it as his hands shook. Law watched him, eyebrows raised. Rocinante chuckled nervously and was, secretly, relieved when Law decided not to comment on it.

The two of them sat in silence as they ate, Law haphazardly shoving food into his face and Rocinante not much neater.

“...Hey, Mr. Cora?” Law said suddenly.

“Hm?”

“I’ve been wondering about something,” Law said. “I know you’re not really called Mr. Cora, so what _is_ your real name?”

“It’s Rocinante,” he said. “But you can just keep calling me Cora if you like.”

“Row-shee-nan-tay…” Law sounded out. His eyebrows knitted together. “That’s a really weird name.”

Rocinante chuckled. “Yes, well, that’s why everyone usually calls me Corazon instead,” he said. “Ah...hm. Oh! Where did you learn how to make an omelette, Law? I don’t remember making them before with you.”

Law chewed away at his omelette. “Somebody taught me,” he said casually.

“Who was it?” Rocinante asked. “Bellmere? Your parents?”

“Neither of them.” Rocinante paused. He looked at Law, but Law didn’t look back at him, and before he could say anything, Law asked, “How old are you?”

“Has this become a question game?” Rocinante asked.

Law shrugged. “Sure I guess,” he said. “So, how old are you, old geezer?”

Rocinante poked Law on the cheek, “Hey, who’re you calling an old geezer?” he said. Law snickered at him. “I’m twenty nine, almost thirty. So I’m still young.”

“Psh, you’re like twice as old as me. That’s really, really old.”

“Alright, alright,” Rocinante said. “Whatever you say, Law.”

In a matter of minutes, Law scraped the last remnants of food off of his plate. He pushed back his chair and took his dishes away to the kitchen. Rocinante heard the sound of running water and the clink of ceramic on metal. He picked up his glass of orange juice and put it to his lips, taking a long sip.

“Are you and Bellemere dating?” came Law’s voice from the kitchen.

The question caught Rocinante off guard, and he nearly spat out his orange juice. He choked and snorted, but managed to swallow it, and then coughed a bit. “Wh...what makes you think that we are?” he asked.

“Well,” Law said, “you spend a lot of time together. And whenever we went out places, you would come with us. You guys hold hands and kiss and stuff.”

“Er, well…” Rocinante said with a nervous chuckle. “Honestly, we’re just friends now. That’s all.”

Law appeared in the living room again, wiping his hands on an old rag. “But you _used_ to be together.”

“Yes. It was a long time ago, but yes.”

“What happened?”

“That’s grown up stuff, Law,” Rocinante said. He set his utensils on the plate and stood up. “Hey, you went through all the trouble to make us breakfast so how about I clean up?”

Law narrowed his eyes and puffed up his cheeks. It was clearly going to bother him that Rocinante wasn’t going to expand on this clearly interesting story. But then he deflated. “Okay,” he said, heading out of the room and into the hall. He tossed the towel onto the table. “I’m gonna be reading in my room, if you need me.”

Rocinante entered the kitchen and set his plate in the sink. From one of the top cupboards, he withdrew two bottles of pills and set them out on the counter. He opened both of them as quietly as was possible so as not to alert Law to what was happening. He shook two pills out of one bottle and one out of the other. Then, he listened to make sure the house was quiet before downing the pills with the last of his juice.

It wasn’t as if he was doing anything wrong, but Rocinante still found himself reluctant to tell Law about it. It was important, yes, but it wasn’t a life or death situation. He didn’t have to know, at least not yet.


	6. Chapter 6

 Three gunshots echoed in Rocinante’s ears.

He shot up in bed, taking in heaving breaths as if they would be his last. Sweat streaked down his face. He looked down at his chest where the three wounds had been inflicted, tugged up his shirt, and found them healed, long since scarred over. Moonlight filtered in through the crack in the blinds and illuminated the blankets covering his legs. He switched on the light on the nightstand.

This was his bedroom; he was safe at home in his apartment. But the silence was unnerving. He pulled his knees to his chest and dropped his face onto them. He was still breathing laboriously. He inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth in a futile effort to steady himself.

For a moment, he still felt that same chill run down his spine, that same old fear seeping into him. His heart raced. No, he thought, no, he was safe now. Things were alright. _He_ was alright.

“ _Calm_ ,” he whispered. “Calm down.”

Inhale. Exhale. In. Out.

Footsteps. The door creaked. He looked up. Law was standing in the doorway, looking rather bewildered and Rocinante felt a twinge of guilt. Law was usually a fairly sound sleeper. Had he said something--done something in his sleep to wake Law up?

“Are you okay, Mr. Cora?” Law asked.

Rocinante tried to smile at him, but it was weak. He adjusted himself on the bed to look a little less tense, but the fact that he was drenched in sweat and still panicking probably was a dead giveaway that something was wrong.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Rocinante said. Then, he added lightheartedly, “I didn’t wake you up with my snoring, did I?”

“I was already up,” Law said. “I got thirsty and on my way back I heard you. Did you have a bad dream?”

Rocinante nodded slowly. “...Yes,” he said. “Just a very bad dream.” He looked back at Law nervously. “Did I...I didn’t say anything in my sleep, did I?”

“No, but I could hear you gasping.” Law walked into the room and crawled onto the bed. “It must’ve been really bad, cause you sounded really scared.”

Rocinante wiped some of the still dripping sweat off of his face and his breathing slowly returned to normal. His heart was starting to settle down. But Law still looked at him with concern in his eyes. The silence of the room returned. Rocinante let out a quiet sigh. It was late, and he was tired. Very, very tired. Part of him wanted to walk out to the couch and watch reruns of bad television to keep his mind off of old memories, but nowadays that would keep Law awake, and that was the last thing he wanted.

“You know, Mr. Cora,” Law began, “whenever I had really bad dreams, my parents used to let me crawl into bed with them. And then I wouldn’t be scared anymore.” He gave Rocinante a serious look. “I can do that, too, if you need me to. That way you won’t get all scared again.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that. It’s alright,” Rocinante said. “This doesn’t happen a lot.”

“It happened last Friday, too,” Law said. Rocinante’s breath hitched and he stared at Law with wide eyes. “You were mumbling something over and over and then you woke up the same way. I didn’t want to say anything about it.” Law pressed his lips into a fine line. “But if it’s gonna keep happening then I wanna help.”

“Law, really, it’s—”

But there was no changing Law’s mind, it seemed. He climbed over to the other side of the bed and burrowed under the covers. He plopped his head down on one of Rocinante’s large, puffy pillows and made a serious face like he truly believed his presence would scare any nasty dreams, or memories, away. Rocinante watched him before sighing defeatedly. He turned the light off and laid down again.

Before long, it was quiet once more, and Rocinante became more awake than ever. He was aware of Law’s every movement as he tried to get comfortable in the bed, twitching, tugging the covers, and grunting all the while. Rocinante moved to lay face down into his pillow in hopes that he would pass out again. Law had other plans.

“What was your bad dream about, Mr. Cora?” Law asked.

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Okay.” A pause. “I had a dream that Bepo grew up,” Law said. “He drew the maps for my history book and got fish and paw prints all over them. Also, he could talk. He got really upset when I pointed out that bears don’t talk.”

Rocinante chuckled. “Well, it’s true.”

“—Exactly! So why get mad about it?” Law huffed. “Then all he wanted to do was make islands and stuff shaped like animals! Who’s ever heard of an island shaped like an elephant…”

Law rambled on and on about the dream, talking about his adventures with Bepo the talking polar bear. They went to faraway places in submarines and did all kinds of absurd things. Rocinante found himself both confused and delighted and it was almost as if the nightmare had never happened at all.

* * *

 

One of Rocinante’s lesser known hobbies was his garden; which was, essentially, three tiny tomato plants on the little patio outside his apartment that he cared for lovingly. When Law was formally introduced, he took to them almost immediately. Law was not as fond of tomatoes as Rocinante was but he enjoyed taking care of the plants. And, it seemed, the garden had given Law an idea.

Within a couple weeks, Law decided he wanted to fill the house with spider plants. Specifically _just_ spider plants. Rocinante had no qualms with putting plants in the house, but it was interesting to note that Law insisted on buying nearly a dozen of them. Multiple for each room in the house. Getting them home was a bit of a challenge. Rocinante carried two boxes of the plants from the car to the elevator, and Law carried the third. The second they were in the house, Law took it upon himself to find the best places for each one. He placed all three boxes on the couch and then went to and from the living room with the plants.

Rocinante, with little else to do at the moment, sat down at the table with the newspaper and a quick salad for lunch. The headline piece wasn’t terribly exciting this week; a simple overview of a park event that had happened on Wednesday. What attracted Rocinante’s attention was the little article on the fourth page—Crocodile’s casino project. He chewed on a slice of tomato as he read it. It had been advertised on the radio several times just this week. Smoker was in an uproar about how he had been right, and that the casino would be nothing more than a hotbed for illegal activity. Tashigi agreed on this. It was pretty much a unanimous decision to keep the place on radar now.

“...That’s two for my room, and one for the bathroom, and two for Mr. Cora’s room,” Law muttered to himself as he picked up another potted plant with his soil-coated hands. He walked to the table and set it down right in the middle. “Three for this room, then.”

Rocinante lowered the newspaper. “Three spider plants for the living room?” he asked. “That seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“No, no, not at all,” Law said, going back for the second living room plant. “I was reading this book in the library at school—and there was this part about spider plants filtering out bad air.”

“Bad air?” Rocinante said.

And then, it hit him.

Oh. _Oh_.

He folded up the newspaper and got up. “Actually, you know, there’s this spot in the kitchen that could use a spider plant,” he said. He picked up one of the smaller ones that fit snugly in his hands. “Right near the window—that would look great, right?”

“Yeah!” Law said. “There’s a little spot that’d be perfect for it.” Following Law’s excited footsteps, Rocinante took the plant to the kitchen. But he was stopped before he could walk onto the tile. “Socks off, Mr. Cora.”

“Huh?”

“You gotta take your socks off before you come into the kitchen,” Law said.

Rocinante looked down at his feet and wiggled his toes under the fabric of his gold-toed socks. “Is this a new house rule? No socks in the kitchen?” Rocinante asked. “I just cleaned in here so I won’t get them dirty.”

But Law was determined, and Rocinante eventually pulled both of his socks off. His sweaty feet stuck to the tile floor as he walked to the window. He placed the little spider plant down on the windowsill and opened the blind. The window looked out onto the street. It wasn’t much of a view, but the plant wouldn’t mind.

“Okay, there’s still three more plants to put around the house,” Law said. “Where else should we put them?”

“Hmm…” Rocinante stroked his chin, inadvertently getting potting soil on it in the process. “We could put one outside near the tomatoes. There was a large one in the bunch, right? I’ll put that one outside.”

As Rocinante went to get the largest plant of the bunch, Law beat him to it. “I can do it, Mr. Cora,” he said hurriedly. He took the plant with both hands and lifted it from the box. “I’ll take it outside.”

At the time, Rocinante simply smiled and shook his head at Law for insisting on doing everything himself. But over the next few days, Law’s odd behavior continued. He chased Rocinante out of the kitchen during any meal, insisted on helping Rocinante get things from any location, and utterly refused to take the stairs in their apartment. But Rocinante owned these things up to simply Law wanting to be in control of his surroundings, or thoughtfulness. None of these thing were harmful, either.

It wasn’t until Law did something out of character that Rocinante finally became worried.

They had gone out to eat on a Thursday evening after Law finished his homework and Rocinante made some important phone calls. On their way back to the car, Rocinante stumbled on the sidewalk path and toppled to the ground. The way he landed, it left him with a skinned elbow and a sore spot that would probably develop into a bruise later. He groaned and stood back up again, dusting himself off.

Usually Law would roll his eyes or make some comment about Rocinante being ridiculous, but this time he hurried to his side and looked him over.

“Are you okay, Mr. Cora?” Law asked. “Did you hurt yourself again?”

“I’m alright,” Rocinante said. “Just a little—”

“Pfff! Hahahaha!” A group of kids not too far from them cackled. “Did you see that? He didn’t even trip over anything and he still fell!”

“Shut up!” Law snapped. “Stop laughing at him!”

But the kids continued laughing. People laughing about Rocinante tripping wasn’t anything new. It happened almost every day, no matter where he went. And since they were only children, he didn’t mind it any.

Something within Law seemed to snap, and he rushed at the group of children with balled up fists. They yelled in surprise as Law tackled the tallest of the bunch. Rocinante went wide eyed as he saw Law outright attack the kid, punching him and shaking him while the other two tried to push him away.

“ _Law_!” Rocinante called out. He rushed into the scene and pulled Law away. Law fought against him, reaching forward and flexing his hands to grab the kid again. “Law, stop it! Stop it right now!”

The kid he beat on held his swollen face. The others stared at Rocinante and Law with wide eyes before they looked at each other and sprinted away. Law glared at them as they left, wiping off a bit of blood from his nose where the taller kid had punched him back. Rocinante looked down at him with a stern gaze.

“What on earth was that all about?” he asked. “Why did you do that, Law?”

“They were making fun of you!” Law said. “They deserved it.”

Rocinante stared at him. “No, they didn’t,” he said. “lt was mean of them to laugh, yes, but they didn’t deserve to get punched. What’s gotten into you, Law?”

Law said nothing. But he did break away from Rocinante’s grasp to continue their trek back to the car. “Let’s just go,” he said.

* * *

 

One day, while Law was away at school, everything clicked.

Rocinante had gone into Law’s room to retrieve some dishes that he knew tended to let pile up before test days. The room was filled with matching modern furniture; a sleek blue chair, a white desk and blue lamp,  a set of blue bedsheets and covers, a plain white bookshelf packed with books—nonfiction, fiction, and textbooks alike—and what few toys Law had. A sizable polar bear plush that he had bought Law while at the zoo was perched on top of it.

Next to Law’s little twin bed was the desk. It was covered with stacks and stacks of books. At the current rate of consumption, Rocinante thought to himself, Law was going to need a second bookshelf. He carefully cleared a couple stacked bowls and two plastic cups from the surface of the desk.

A book was sitting under the collection. Rocinante recognized it as one of his own. He set down the bowls and lifted it. He paged through the book; it had been dogeared and underlined and notes were written in it in pencil. He noticed that Law had taken specific care to note the symptoms listed toward the front of it. He rubbed his face and sighed.

This wasn’t how he wanted Law to find out about his ataxia. But it was what it was and now he had to deal with it.

A few hours later, Law came home from school. Rocinante was waiting for him on the couch with the book in his hand. Law looked content until he saw Rocinante holding the book. He flinched.

“Law,” Rocinante began, “I think there’s something we need to talk about.”

Law looked down at his feet. “I...I’m sorry for writing in your book, Mr. Cora.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Rocinante got up and walked over to him. He held up the book so that the title, Living with Ataxia, was fully visible. “...I thought keeping this a secret from you would be for the best, but clearly it isn’t,” he said. “Not if you’re going to go around dealing with it like you have been.”

Law looked as if he thought Rocinante was going to scold him. Rocinante smiled faintly at him. He really couldn’t scold Law for trying his best to figure out on his own what to do. He only was trying his best to help, after all, and everything he’d done was with good intentions in mind. He reached over and ruffled Law’s hair.

“You aren’t here to fight my battles for me, Law,” Rocinante said. Law looked up at him.

“But people _laugh_ at you,” Law said. “They don’t even know!”

“It’s okay,” Rocinante said. Law stared at him like he couldn’t believe that. “It’s okay because the people that do know don’t laugh at me. And that’s what matters.”

Law didn’t say anything for a long while. He seemed lost in thought.

“I wish I was a doctor right now,” Law said. “So I could make you better.”

“Even if you could become a doctor right now,” Rocinante said, “I’m afraid my condition isn’t something you can cure. But I know how to deal with it now, I’ve gotten help, take medication and everything.” Law still seemed at a loss, so Rocinante reached out and gave him a quick hug. “You’re not supposed to be worrying about me, I’m the one who’s gotta worry about you, okay?”

“...Okay,” Law said.

Evening rolled around. Rocinante and Law went around to each room in the house to water the spider plant collection. Law checked on the tomato plants outside, disappointed that they hadn’t sprouted any little green tomatoes yet. Rocinante reassured him  that by late summer they’d have fresh red tomatoes every other day.

Law still insisted on doing most of dinner himself. He’d become adept at cooking, now able to make several tasty things on his own with the little gluten free recipe book Rocinante had gotten for him. Rocinante was allowed in the kitchen again, but only to grab the utensils and toss the salad. Something about him accidentally cutting himself with the knives or lighting himself on fire again.

Rocinante switched on the television to the evening news after dinner while Law did his homework at the table. The newscaster rambled on and on about politics and sports and celebrities and other things that Rocinante wasn’t particularly interested.

But then something caught his ear.

“... _a series of robberies has officers in Spider Miles stunned; so clean and so precise, that they’re left wondering how they even happened_ ,” she said. Rocinante turned up the volume a couple notches. Law’s head perked up. “ _Authorities are investigating the area for any potential clues_ …”

An image of Spider Miles popped up. Rocinante vaguely recognized the area, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. It was a spray painted image tucked in between various other graffiti that stood out. Rocinante stared at it, stupefied. It was an unnerving grin situated in a neat circle with large eyes and a slash through the middle.

He knew that sign. And he knew what it meant.

“Joker,” Law and Rocinante said in unison. They looked at each other.

“How do you know that name?” Rocinante asked him, tone deadly serious.

Law looked up at him, surprised that Rocinante sounded so serious but also seeming shocked at himself. “I...I heard it a couple times,” he said.

Rocinante stared at him dumbly. It had been a long, long time since he’d seen hide or hair of “Joker”, so the fact that Law even knew that name worried him beyond words. That wasn’t a common alias for a common thief.

He looked back at the screen as the image faded away to the newscasters again. They went off to another topic and Rocinante decided to turn it off once more. He ran a hand through his hair.

Tomorrow was going to be a big, big day for him.


	7. Chapter 7

The station was buzzing with yesterday’s news; it was the only thing anyone seemed to be talking about. Even Smoker, who was usually preoccupied with Crocodile, was more interested in discussing the Joker sighting.

“Joker”, as he was so known, was one of the most wanted criminals around on a variety of charges; first degree murder, theft, arson, destruction of property, illegal drug trafficking, and several murky reports of kidnapping. His true identity was shrouded in mystery, as nobody had seen the man and lived. He operated through countless underlings, executive officers, and even random people off of the street. Colloquially, his group was known as “The Family” due to the way he referred to them.

Joker had built an empire some odd years ago of various different criminal organizations, yet disappeared from the face of the earth soon after. Nobody had a definite answer as to why, but Rocinante had a few ideas. A few very specific ideas, in fact, though he’d never say anything about it. As far as most people were concerned, Rocinante knew nothing about the case.

He paced back and forth in front of Smoker and Tashigi as they talked, going went on and on again about how shocked he was about seeing the sign on television. They watched him with concern.

“I can’t believe this,” he said. “Why Spider Miles? Why now?”

“It’s been years since the Joker case popped up on anyone’s radar,” Tashigi said. “I thought he was dead.”

“Never assume that until you find the body,” Smoker said. “Yeah, it’s been a while. But Joker’s not the kind of character to simply run off and get himself killed. He’s sneaky.” Smoker raised an eyebrow at Rocinante, who was taking a long drag on his cigarette. “You going to inhale the entire thing while you’re at it?”

“I’m sorry,” Rocinante said. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. This whole situation has me on edge.”

“No kidding, that’s the fifth cigarette you’ve smoked through this morning,” Smoker said. “Take a break, Cora, you’ve got a kid now.”

Rocinante stopped in his pacing and removed the cigarette from his mouth. He contemplated it for a moment, then sighed. “You’re right. I should probably quit,” he said. “But it’s situations like these where nothing seems to help better.”

“Cora,” Smoker said.

“What?” Rocinante replied.

“You’re on fire.”

Rocinante looked to the side. His shoulder was ablaze. He yelped in surprise and made a futile effort to put it out with his hand. Smoker stared in amazement while Tashigi grabbed a nearby flower vase. She poured the contents over his shoulder. The fire was immediately extinguished, leaving behind some blackened cloth and a small burn. Rocinante hissed and held the spot.

“Why does this keep happening?” he muttered.

“Rocinante.”

The three officers looked toward the door, surprised to hear Rocinante’s full name. Sengoku was standing there with a serious expression. He gestured for Rocinante to come with him. He did so, picking off the flowers from his shirt as he went.

They entered his office and closed the door behind them. After Sengoku settled down in his chair again, he spoke.

“You’ve seen the news, haven’t you?” Sengoku said.

“Yes,” Rocinante said. “I’m still in shock.”

“It’s strange that he would go underground for so long and suddenly reappear now,” Sengoku said. “And so close, too. Spider Miles is only an hour from here.” He eyed Rocinante carefully. “We’d best hope that he doesn’t—”

“Law knows about Joker,” Rocinante said.

Sengoku was speechless.

“...You’re sure about this?” Sengoku asked carefully.

“ _Yes_ ,” Rocinante said as he paced around Sengoku’s office. “He was watching the news with me when that symbol came on the screen. And I’m absolutely, without a doubt, _completely_ sure he said Joker.”

Sengoku stroked his braided beard, eyebrows knitting. “That is troubling,” he said.

“To say the _least_!” Rocinante practically yelled. “Law would have been too young to remember the last time he popped up—and _why_ he popped up.” He put a hand to his face, wiping some sweat away from his brow. “...I don’t know if you’re aware, but Law disappeared for a couple years, and he’s so reluctant to talk to me about it--you don’t think he might have…?” He inhaled sharply.

Sengoku sighed. “You’re being paranoid,” he said.

“But it would make sense!” Rocinante said. “Why he was so scared of me the night I found him, why he looked like he’d seen something evil—because he had! We have the same damn face—I should have spoke to him earlier. I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection!”

“Calm _down_ , Rocinante,” Sengoku said. And Rocinante did, but only enough to sit down in the chair Sengoku offered to him. “It doesn’t seem in Doflamingo’s character to go around stealing orphaned children, what with all that nonsense he used to spout off about only valuing the strong.”

Rocinante pinched the bridge of his nose. “No,” he said. “No, it’s perfectly in character for him. Doflamingo likes to have strong companions, yes, but he’s not against bringing children into the picture if he feels compelled. He’s all about family, Sengoku.”

Neither of them said anything. Rocinante was lost in his thoughts; if Doflamingo _had_ abducted Law, did he also have something to do with the death of his family? Had everything only happened by chance? He rested his forehead on his hands and stared down at his lap. Everything had been going so well with Law. Now there was this elephant in the room that he wasn’t sure how to address.

“How do you think Law will feel if he knows that I’m related to the man who probably tried to brainwash him?” Rocinante said softly. “How am I supposed to even _look_ at him now?”

“Rocinante, as long as you’ve worked here with me, I’ve never had a reason to doubt your good intentions,” Sengoku said. “You do share a striking resemblance with your brother, but you are _not_ him. Law understands this. God knows you’ve done enough for him to prove it.”

Rocinante looked up at him, suddenly feeling small and weak in the presence of the old man who had been, and still was, such an important figure in his life. Sengoku gave him a hopeful smile that Rocinante was hesitant to return.

“...If Law _was_ with The Family, that would explain why he’s so reluctant to talk about it,” Rocinante said. “It’s not just a matter of brainwashing with them. They probably threatened his life if he spilled their secrets.” Then, he said with a groan, “He was only _eight._ ”

“Surely now it should be easier for him to discuss?” Sengoku said. “It’s been some time since then. Law is perfectly safe with you. You’ve told me many a time about how he’s opened up since your initial meeting with him.”

Rocinante looked Sengoku in the eye. “You’ve never had the chance to meet Doflamingo personally, have you Sengoku?” he said. “There’s something about him. I don’t know what it is, but it attracts people to him. He’ll promise things to you, and no promise is too big, and soon enough you’re _compelled_ to listen to him—I mean there’s a reason that I—!” He paused and closed his mouth to swallow. “I…”

“I know,” Sengoku said. “But you’ve changed since then. You’re better than that now.” Rocinante had to look away. “We learned lots of important things about him, his whereabouts, his actions, all from you. You’ve done a great deal of good since I first met you.” Rocinante said nothing. Sengoku got up and walked over to him. He put a hand on Rocinante’s shoulder, squeezing it sympathetically. “I’ve alerted the authorities in Spider Miles and the surrounding area of the possible danger they could be in. Everyone’s on the lookout for Doflamingo,” he said. “If he even moves a finger, we’ll know. Law will be safe, Rocinante. And so will you.”

Rocinante nodded in response. But he didn’t feel any better.

 

* * *

 

The rumors of Joker’s return soon faded away from recent memory; someone else was convicted for the robberies in the days following the report. He stood trial, was sent to jail. It was cleaned up, wrapped with a bow, and put away. Too clean, according to Rocinante. Far too clean. It only reminded him of Doflamingo’s other operations. He was ridiculously good at cleaning up after himself.

Time came and went. The tomatoes on the patio grew and ripened in late July and were ready to harvest by mid August. Law went on to his next year of school charged with excitement, and that spirit passed onto Rocinante who went on working with a little more enthusiasm.

Sengoku had given him a new assignment. Rocinante usually was the one left to do paperwork and parking tickets and business around town, so this struck him as odd. He stared at the folder on his desk with instructions to speak to Sengoku later about the details. He’d already looked over the information. Twice. Yet still he had a hard time believing what it contained; Sengoku wanted him on the Dance Powder case.

Crocodile’s casino project had been completed in a matter of months. He had the kind of money to hurry the construction along, and this clearly bothered Sengoku and others. The casino was a massive hit among the locals in Alabasta, drawing in people from all walks of life for all different reasons. There was live entertainment, music, a hotel, a menagerie in the back—Crocodile spared no expense.

Rocinante had seen photos in the newspaper of the newly completed casino’s interior and exterior. He’d never really thought about visiting--why would he? But, as fate would have it, he would apply for work there under Crocodile, undercover, to make sure nothing was amiss.

“Are you sure I’m the right one for this case?” Rocinante asked. “Smoker—”

“Smoker would be far too easily recognised,” Sengoku said. “Tashigi, too. I’m sure Crocodile has his eyes on their whereabouts and remembers them all too well from the initial drug acquisition. But,” he poked Rocinante in the chest, “he has no idea who _you_ are.”

Rocinante looked at him, eyebrows lowered. “I was here when he was brought in. Maybe I wasn’t the one who tackled and handcuffed him, but I was still here that night,” he said. “You can’t know that for sure.”

“I can’t, no,” Sengoku replied. “But it’s a safe bet that, should he know who you are, he doesn’t take you seriously. Or, at least, he doesn’t take you as seriously as Smoker. The only rumor about you is that you’re clumsy. As much as I loathe admitting it, there’s not much to be feared from a cop that’s clumsy.”

Rocinante sighed. “Isn’t that just my problem,” he said.

“Give yourself some time to think about it. I know things have gotten hectic with Law lately,” Sengoku said. “But I sincerely believe you would be an asset in this.”

And Rocinante did think about it. He thought too much about it, even. He brought the case file home with him to read and review again and again. He came to the conclusion that he would probably accept the case, if only to get his mind off of other problems at hand. But figuring out how to work with Crocodile was going to be difficult.

Crocodile wasn’t the type of man to work an illegal operation without first thinking through each major step--at least, that was what Smoker would say. And this meant he had to think like Crocodile. Had to see the world through his eyes, had to get inside his mind. If Rocinante really wanted to understand, he’d have to get inside the operation itself.

Law tried to read some of the classified file from behind him, standing on his toes in an attempt to see, but Rocinante nudged him back a bit. “No, Law,” he said. “I can’t let you see this. It’s on a need to know basis.”

“Is it about Joker?” Law asked, still trying to see beyond the great wall of Rocinante’s shoulders. “Are you looking into that Joker thing from a while ago?”

Rocinante closed the folder. Law frowned at him. “Unfortunately, no,” Rocinante said. “This is something else entirely and as much as I’d like to tell you about it, I really do need to keep it classified, Law.”

“You can’t even talk about it a little bit?”

“No.”

Law hummed. Then, he pulled up the chair across from Rocinante and sat down in it. Rocinante went back to reading the information, eyeing the pictures. Law swung his legs back and forth, and hummed a little more, and tapped on the table.

“What if I told you something super secret?” Law said. “And in return you read some stuff from one of those papers.”

“Oh? Something super secret?” Rocinante glanced at him. “If it’s about where you used to hide all of Bellemere’s bread loaves, I already know about that. She told me first thing.”

Law’s ears burned red and he puffed up his cheeks. He pulled down on the rim of his hat and looked away. “That traitor…” he muttered.

“I’m sorry, Law. When I get a case that’s not so private, I’ll tell you about it.”

Law hopped off of the chair again and seemed to be headed back to his room. But then, he paused before walking into the hallway. He turned around to face Rocinante. “...Well, I’ve still got some good super secrets that even Bellemere wouldn’t know,” Law said. “What if I told you about one of those?”

Rocinante chuckled. “What would those be about, then?”

“It’s about those two years. Y’know, when you thought I ran away.”

Rocinante turned to look at Law. Law smirked a little. “Alright. You’ve got my attention,” Rocinante said. “But I really can’t read off these documents to you. It’s not a simple matter of information exchange.”

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” Law said. “Just some super basic stuff.”

“Well...I suppose I can manage that.” He positioned himself so he was facing Law better. “Have you ever heard of a city named Alabasta?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’ve heard about it a couple times,” Law said. “It’s really far away, right?”

“Right,” Rocinante said. “This case I’m working has to do with Alabasta. There’s this casino there that has people worried.”

Law’s eyebrows rose. “Are bad things happening there?”

“Smoker seems to think so. I’m not so sure,” Rocinante said. “But I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.” He looked at Law expectantly. “Now then...your half of the bargain?”

Law suddenly became a little nervous, as if he hadn’t actually thought he would have to talk about it. He went over to the couch to sit down, rather than the chair. “Where should I start, though?” he asked.

“At the beginning, I suppose,” Rocinante said. “Wherever that may be.”

Law took in a deep breath, and then exhaled.

“...My dad always told me that if I was in a really bad situation the first thing I had to do was get help,” Law began, “so right after I found my parents and my sister, I ran as fast as I could to find some help. But it was really late, and everyone was asleep. There weren’t a lot of people around. I did find someone who could help, though.”

“Was it one of your neighbors?” Rocinante asked.

Law shook his head. “I thought he was, but he said he wasn’t. He was just going for a walk. And when I told him what happened, he seemed to know what to do,” he said. “I took him to my house and showed him what happened and he told me that he’d take care of everything. He called the police, and made sure I was okay, and asked me some questions and stuff.”

“He seems like he was a kind person, helping you with all of that,” Rocinante said. “I’m...not sure how this is considered much of a secret—”

“And then he told me to go with him cause he said my house wasn’t safe.”

Rocinante’s eyes widened. “You...you went with him?” he said. “Where did you go? What happened after that?”

“I can’t spill all the secrets,” Law said. “You only told me a little bit about yours. Fair’s fair.”

Rocinante wanted to tell him that it wasn’t the same—no, it wasn’t the same at all. A kidnapping and some drug case weren’t nearly the same. Worry was spreading across his face; Law had been taken by some unknown man to some unknown place to do unknown things. And Law was hiding all of this from him? This was going to eat away at him until he knew the truth.

But rules were rules. He would be patient with Law.

“But...that man,” he said. “Could you at least tell me what he looked like?”

Law hummed. “He had black hair and sunglasses,” he said. “And a weird haircut.”

“Alright. Thank you,” Rocinante said.

Seeming aware of the awkward atmosphere of the room, Law got back off the couch and wandered away. “I’m gonna go and read for a bit, Mr. Cora,” he said.

Rocinante watched him leave without a word. He was at a loss; what was he _supposed_ to say to Law? An apology seemed too much like a weak fix, and he certainly didn’t want to overdo it and make Law uncomfortable. Or was that the first part of helping him recover, making him spill all his secrets?

That wouldn’t be fair to Law, though, would it? Rocinante was keeping plenty of secrets from him. Some more dangerous than others. He looked down at the case file in front of him and sighed.

“Fair’s fair,” he muttered.

 

* * *

 

Alabasta was far away. So far, that Rocinante had to drive for hours to reach it. He spent a great deal of that time in traffic and at stop lights. Parking was a nightmare; the casino’s parking lot was jammed because of the hype over its recent opening. He ended up parking in a parking ramp at a nearby mall and walking three blocks.

The casino was more difficult to spot during the day without its blinding neon signs, but still managed to stand out. The exterior was polished and reflected the light of the sun. The gaudy golden crocodile on top of the building grinned at him as he entered.

The interior of the building was, if possible, even more richly decorated than Rocinante had imagined. Following the golden crocodile on the building was the ever-present crocodile motif on the walls, the flooring. It was most evident in the lovingly sculpted crocodile fountain in the lobby, placed right before the hall leading to the slot machines and game tables. Some were gilded, but others seemed to be inlaid with semi-precious stones.

Rocinante went to the customer service desk to inquire about jobs. He was directed to the employees only section of the building and told to go to the end, where the vice president of the casino was waiting for him. He didn’t remember having spoken to anyone named “Allison Sunday” before, but took his papers and quietly wandered through the halls.

Unlike the rest of the building, instead of the constant barrage of crocodiles, there were framed paintings of desert scenes. They were all from the same artist, hanging on the walls and pseudo-Egyptian style architecture was incorporated into the building’s interior. The carpet was a bit gaudy, featuring some palm trees on a red background. To say that Crocodile loved the desert would be a gross understatement.

Deep in the heart of the Rain Dinners casino was a little office with a stylized wooden door. The nameplate read “Allison Sunday: Vice President”. He knocked twice.

“It’s open,” a voice inside called to him.

Rocinante opened the door. The room inside was well decorated just like the rest of the casino, but with a unique flair not present anywhere else. Instead of a desert theme, this office was filled with various artifacts ranging from brass buttons and coins in framed glass cases on the wall to letters and runes carved in stone. A minimalist wooden desk was in the center of the room, and Allison Sunday herself was seated in the over-sized black leather rolling chair. She smiled at him, and Rocinante couldn’t tell whether it was hostile or friendly.

“Close the door and sit down,” she said. And he did. “You’re Rocinante, are you not?”

“Yes, that’s me,” he said. “Um...I was recommended to this position by…”

“Fufu,” Allison Sunday chuckled. “I was the one that recommended you.”

“Oh.”

“I was told you would be tall, but you’re even taller than I’d expected,” she said. “Fufufu….ah, but, I suppose I should formally introduce myself, shouldn’t I?” She held out a hand to him. “Nico Robin, private investigator. We’ll be working together.”

Rocinante stared at her outstretched hand for a moment before taking it. Sengoku had mentioned a partner, but he hadn’t been very specific about it. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the tiny camera in the room. Its red light blinked at him.

“Can Crocodile...?”

“Crocodile is careful, not paranoid,” Robin said. “He can see us, but cannot hear us. Don’t look too suspicious and there shouldn’t be a problem.” She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “I don’t believe we’ve had the opportunity to talk before, have we, Rocinante? Sengoku told me plenty about you.”

“He was...vague about you. All he said was that we would be meeting soon,” Rocinante said. “I didn’t think it would be this soon. How did you manage to climb this far up on Crocodile’s chain of command?”

“I’ve been working with him for a while now,” she said. “I earned my place. He values my judgement.” A pause. “The two of us won’t be working on the same case; I have my own business to attend to. But your assistance here is much appreciated.”

“Is there something happening here?” Rocinante asked. “Besides the Dance Powder case, I mean?”

“My client would prefer that I leave that information classified, but yes. It would seem that there are many things happening in the dark corners of this casino.”

The two of them conversed for a while; about work, about Rocinante’s chosen undercover name, and about the going-ons of Rain Dinners. Robin said that it drew in even more money than what she had predicted back when Crocodile was planning the project, despite it being so new. Later, she toured Rocinante around the business end of the casino.

The offices happened to be in a location that overlooked the menagerie, which turned out to be less of a zoo and more of a crocodile sanctuary. Dozens of the animals were laying out in the sun, their mouths open. Unlike the zoo exhibit, these crocodiles had a lavishly decorated area and well thought out enclosures. He watched multiple crocodile keepers hurry around, some with buckets and others with clipboards.

“Crocodile is very serious about his theme, isn’t he?” Rocinante muttered.

“He is, yes,” Robin said. “Now is probably the time to tell you what it is you will be doing here…”

She looked down at the menagerie. Rocinante followed her gaze. In a split second, he realized what she meant.

“...You’re not serious, are you?” he said. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about taking care of crocodiles.”

“Of course not. According to your history, you’ve worked with elephants.” Robin tapped him with a set of papers containing what were probably forged details about his work at the zoo. “These will assure the head keeper that you need the extra training.”

Rocinante pressed his lips into a fine line. Working undercover in a casino, he’d assumed that he would be mixing drinks, or passing out poker chips, or counting money. Granted, he’d never done any of those things, but surely they would be less dangerous than working with several dozen man-eating reptiles. One wrong move, if he slipped into the cage...

“Why crocodiles?” he said. “I don’t even like crocodiles.”

Robin chuckled. “What better way to understand the man than through his pampered pets?” she said.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up: there's a sensitive word in here. Only one, but it still deserves a notice just in case!

The staff of Rain Dinner’s crocodile menagerie was...unique, to say the least. Rocinante wondered if he would really fit in with this flock of odd birds, but Robin assured him that he had nothing to worry about. He wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or not.

She introduced him to some of the employees on the casino floor before she took him out to the glorified shed that was the crocodile keeper’s food storage, clean up supplies, and office building. Apparently, the crocodiles not only had a full staff to keep them well fed and pampered, but they had their own set of veterinarians ensure they would never be sick or unhappy.

The head keeper was a man by the name of Bon Clay, who considered himself the most stylish of all the employees. He plastered his face with makeup and had his own sort of uniform that didn’t match the other keepers’ classy green and gold; blue and white, and styled with swans and ribbons in probably the most eccentric costume Rocinante had ever seen. Rocinante, thankfully, was not pressured to conform to Bon Clay’s unusual style. But whenever they worked together, Bon Clay insisted on them having the same motif.

And this was how he ended up with the fake red lipstick smile and the exaggerated blue eyelashes--but only on one side of his face, which made the getup even more lopsided. Rocinante had to deal with barely concealed laughter whenever he went on break and passed other crocodile care teammates. Luckily, dealing with Bon Clay himself wasn’t that troublesome.

They spent most their time in the crocodile hut preparing enough food to feed each and every crocodile--or, at least, Rocinante spent most his time in there. Bon Clay prefered not to get his hands dirty with the carcasses of animals and instead would supervise to make sure the newbie wasn’t doing anything wrong. It was gross work, but Rocinante was just glad that he wasn’t the one who had to hose out the crocodile enclosure.

Returning home after a long work day was exhausting; and the two and a half hour commute there and back didn’t help. Only two weeks into the job, and Rocinante was already using the couch as his replacement bed until seven AM, which was when he left for the day. Law was the one who woke him up, and before long he began to wait for Rocinante to come home. This became more and more troublesome as Rocinante’s arrivals became later and later.

He came home one night at eleven thirty to find Law watching television on the couch in the living room. Rocinante blinked his eyes sleepily, but didn’t have it in him to outright scold Law for staying up past his bedtime. Law looked up at him as he walked in.

“...What the heck is on your face, Mr. Cora?” Law asked, squinting at him in the dark.

Rocinante touched his face. His fingers came back blue and red. Oh. He’d forgotten to wash off the makeup.

“Um…that’s...” he began, unsure of how to explain it. “...A part of my uniform, I suppose.”

“You’re working undercover as a _clown?_ ”

Rocinante laughed. “Actually, I take care of crocodiles,” he said. “No clowning around involved. Or, at least, there really shouldn’t be for everyone’s sake.” He took a seat beside Law. “How long have you been sitting here?”

Law shrugged. “A couple hours maybe.”

“Well, you don’t have to wait anymore. It’s bed time,” Rocinante said, yawning. “Go on. It’s a school night.”

“But I hardly get to see you anymore!” Law whined.

Which bothered Rocinante just as much, if not more. “I know,” Rocinante said. “I don’t like it much either.”

Outside of a quick breakfast together, it was rare that they were in the same place at the same time anymore. Instead of their old routine, Law spent evenings at Bellemere’s house, or spend the night on occasion, and Rocinante would pick him up later. But Law wasn’t always okay with this setup, and would escape back to their apartment.

Certainly, there was always the possibility of moving closer to Alabasta with Law, but that was a big commitment as well. But once the case was over, they could return, however it would take a considerable amount of time. Months? A couple years? He let out a sigh. He was too tired to think about it right now. Maybe he’d talk about it with Law over breakfast.

“Things are weird right now, I know,” he said. “I want to fix that, but I’m not sure how to do so right now.” He looked at Law. “Can you hang in there for me while I figure things out?”

Law contemplated this for a moment. Then, he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “But don’t take too long, alright?”

“I’ll try not to.”

Even after Law went off to bed, Rocinante remained on the couch. He wanted to go to his room to sleep, but his legs ached from standing all day. The TV droned on, and Rocinante turned down the volume to nonexistent. Sometime between then and midnight, he passed out on the couch, his face pressed into a throw pillow and arms hanging over the couch.

The TV droned into the late night shows and reruns, and Crocodile’s face briefly smirked at Rocinante without him realizing it.

 

* * *

 

Another few weeks passed, and then came the unanimous decision to move closer to Alabasta. Neither Law nor Rocinante enjoyed the fact that Law was alone for so long, and Rocinante was getting exhausted from the extended commute. The station was going to repay him for his time and effort getting there, yet was stifling the transaction lest Crocodile be suspicious where all the money was coming from.

Law began hunting for new places to live online while Rocinante was away. He printed and taped the ones he liked best to Rocinante’s door. Granted, Law wasn’t exceptional at house hunting, not bothering to look at the price or other important details, but Rocinante was just happy that he wasn’t against the idea of them picking up their things and leaving.

Undercover work went slower than ever. Rocinante answered phone calls, fed medicine to sick crocodiles, played nice with Bon Clay and the others no matter the situation, and waited ever so patiently for any scrap of news he could send back to Sengoku. So far, Rain Dinners was clean. But then again Rocinante was still distanced from the inner workings of the place. Nico Robin remained elusive.

Being a crocodile keeper was about as dull as the animals themselves . Any interesting things that happened usually happened outside their little bubble. On most days, at least.

On an average, unimportant day much like any other, the phone in the crocodile hut rang. A minute later it was picked up and Rocinante heard Bon Clay’s loud voice filter in through the crack under the door. He didn’t pay it much mind, they got phone calls from the main building daily, and continued with his business; counting the defrosted rats in a orange bucket.

“Ro~ci!” came Bon Clay’s voice from the opposite side of the building. “There’s someone on the phone for you!”

Rocinante paused, his gloved hands holding tight to a bunch of defrosted rat carcasses for the smaller crocodiles. “Hm? It’s for me?” he asked.

He put the rats down in the bucket, peeled off his gloves carefully, and then went into the office. Bon Clay handed him the phone. “Apparently it’s important,” he said.

Rocinante nodded to Bon Clay and put the phone to his ear. “Yes, hello? ...Mhm...I see...” Rocinante’s face turned pensive. He glanced at Bon Clay a bit nervously. “It will take me a while to get home, at least two hours...I believe I have an emergency contact listed…Right...Yes, I understand. Thank you. Goodbye.”

He replaced the phone back on the hook. Bon Clay arched an eyebrow. “Who was that?” he asked.

“That was the school district,” Rocinante said. “I...er, it seems like my son’s gotten himself in trouble. He’s been suspended.”

“Oh? Raising a little troublemaker, are you?”

Rocinante shook his head. “He’s not usually like this. Law’s a great kid. It’s honestly hard to believe that he did something bad enough to earn a three day suspension.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I...really don’t want to do this, but--”

“These things happen,” Bon Clay said, waving him off. “I’ll let you go this time.”

“Ah—” Rocinante glanced back to the food storage room’s door. “You don’t need me to…?”

“I think I can handle six juvenile crocodiles for a while. Go on, go figure out what your boy’s done.”

With that, Rocinante left. The entire way back, his stomach was churning with uneasiness. At the last parent-teacher conference he had been told that Law was an exceptional student, albeit quiet and kept to himself. What on earth had he done to earn a suspension?

When he got to his apartment, he fumbled with his keys. His hands were shaking a bit with nervousness as he opened the door. Inside, he could hear Law and Smoker, whom Rocinante had put down as an emergency contact, chatting inside.

“...See, you’re pretty small,” he heard Smoker’s voice say, “so you’ve got an advantage in that there are less spots to hit. If you stay agile, you can easily avoid their punches if you get in any more fights.”

Any _more_ fights? Rocinante thought, shocked. So Law had been fighting again. He walked inside. Law was sitting on the couch with a bag of ice over his right eye and a wad of tissues stuffed up his nose. Smoker was sitting in the armchair, for once without his trademark cigar. Rocinante had given him a piece of his mind last time he’d tried smoking in his house.

“What’s this I’m hearing about fights?” Rocinante said, crossing his arms.

Both Law and Smoker turned toward him. Law’s expression was unreadable, Rocinante couldn’t tell if he felt guilty or not.

“I’m just giving the kid some advice,” Smoker said.

“Smoker,” Rocinante said, tone stern. “Law won’t be getting into any more fights.”

Smoker snorted. “Who’re you trying to fool, Cora?” he said. “The kid’s got a rep now. The least I can do is give him a few tips so he doesn’t end up with something worse than a black eye and a bloody nose.”

“I lost a tooth, too,” Law said, voice muffled from his stuffed up nose. Rocinante looked at him with wide eyes. “It’s okay, Mr. Cora. I was gonna lose it anyway.”

“No, Law, it’s not okay,” Rocinante said. He settled down on the ground in front of Law to look him in the eye. “Did you start the fight? Or did someone else?”

Law sniffed. “I did,” he said.

“Why?”

“Do you remember those kids we met that one time? The ones outside the restaurant we go to sometimes?” It took Rocinante a moment to remember, but then he nodded. “They found me after school. They called me names and said I was stupid and that they should get me back.”

“And then you punched them?” Rocinante asked.

“No. I don’t care what they have to say about me,” Law furrowed his eyebrows. “I was gonna ignore them but they kept saying stuff. Then they started talking about you. They said you were a retard. They said you were stupid and couldn’t do anything right. And then they _laughed_ about it again and I wasn’t gonna let them get away with it. So I beat them up.”

“All three of them?” Smoker said, raising an eyebrow.

Law sniffed again, and smiled proudly. “Yeah. All three of them at once.”

“Huh,” Smoker said, glancing at Rocinante. “Gotta admit, that takes guts. Good for you, kid. I would’ve beat them up, too.”

Rocinante stared, horrified. “ _Smoker!_ ” he said.

“Well, I wouldn’t _now_ ,” Smoker countered, “but if I was his age I would have.”

Law simply sat and looked proud of himself and Rocinante was wishing that Smoker hadn’t egged him on. The last thing he wanted were more phone calls from the school telling him that Law was causing more and more trouble.

“Law, we’ve had this conversation before. Do you remember?” Rocinante said. “I told you that you weren’t here to fight my battles. This is still true. I don’t want to hear about you getting into any more fights, do you hear me?”

“Does it even matter?” Law said. “We’re gonna move soon anyway. I’m not gonna see those idiots again.”

Rocinante poked Law’s forehead. “No more fights, Law. I mean it,” he said.

 

* * *

 

As fate would have it, Rocinante managed to get a day off where both he and Bellemere had enough free time to do something together. The kids were at school, so they decided to get something to eat and catch a movie in an effort to relax a little. The moment Bellemere looked at him she became concerned. And her concern didn’t lessen as the day went on.

Rocinante told her about his undercover case over lunch, knowing full well he could trust her with this information. She seemed only vaguely interested in the case itself. Her focus was on Rocinante himself and how he was dealing with the situation.

“I don’t think you should have taken the case,” Bellemere said. “You look exhausted. How often is Sengoku sending you over there?”

“Six days a week,” Rocinante said. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. I’ve done things like this before.”

Bellemere huffed. “Geez…” she said. “Don’t go and lie to me. You know I can tell when you’re lying. Maybe you’ve got the guys at the station fooled but you can’t tell me this isn’t dragging you down.”

Rocinante frowned. “I can do this,” he said.

“If you told me that six years ago, I would’ve believed you. Now I’m not so sure,” she said. “You always get so into your job that you forget about other things. Your friends, your own health and well being...” She rested her head in her hand. “I can’t imagine Law is taking this too well, either. Don’t go and get so caught up in one of your justice parades that you forget about everything else again.”

She was right, and he knew it. But he wasn’t going to admit it or say anything further about that. He picked at the food in front of him. Suddenly, he wasn’t all that hungry.

“...I was thinking of moving closer to Alabasta,” he said. “It should cut down on gas expenses and I’ll be able to spend more time with Law.”

“Oh, really?” Bellemere said. “That’s a shame, I’ll miss having you so close by. The girls will, too.”

“We can always come back and visit, can’t we?” Rocinante said. “It’s a little far, but we can meet up halfway somewhere. Not to mention, this job won’t last forever.” He smiled. “Law and I will be back again at some point.”

There was a prolonged silence between them as they ate and exchanged a few awkward glances. Rocinante eventually cleared his throat and caught Bellemere’s attention again.

“Why don’t we talk about something else?” he said. “Something a little more positive.”

The conversation switched from jobs to Nami and Nojiko. Nami had just started school, and, according to Bellemere, had some mixed feelings about it. She wasn’t the best at making friends and wasn’t terribly good at sharing her things. Nojiko had picked up a new hobby; helping her mom in the garden. She was still a bit too young to do everything herself, but she knew how to properly take care of the brand new set of orange trees that they planted in the back yard.

Rocinante talked about Law, and the reemergence of Law’s delinquent behavior. He talked about the spider plants, when Law realized Rocinante’s condition. He went on about Law’s studies, and things Law liked, and some of their happier moments. When he told Bellemere about the face paint incident, she laughed loudly.

“He makes you wear that every day? Seriously? Why don’t you just tell him to shove it?” Bellemere said.

“I didn’t want to leave him with a bad taste in his mouth,” Rocinante said. “I thought, well, maybe if I did what he wanted he’d be less suspicious of me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s less suspicious,” she said. “Now he knows you’re just a big, soft pushover.” Rocinante frowned at her, and this made her laugh more.

“I’m not a pushover—where are you even getting this from?” he said. “I’ve tackled some very dangerous people to the ground and handcuffed them, you know! I’m a well respected officer—” But Bellemere kept laughing to herself, and the smile was all too contagious. He reached over and gently shook her shoulder. “Hey, hey! What’s so funny?”

“Your face in clown makeup, Cora,” she said. “It’s just—you’ve always looked so serious and tough, and then you let someone slather _clown makeup_ all over that. Man, I wish I could have seen that.”

The chatter died down. They finished off their food and the waiter passed by with their bill. Bellemere chose to pay for it, rather than them paying separately or Rocinante choosing to pay for both of them.  After they left, they decided to go for a short walk through the park. It was a windy, overcast afternoon, and Rocinante wished that he’d brought a jacket.

“Mm,” Bellemere hummed. “...It’s strange how for so long we didn’t talk, and now we’re getting on just like we used to. It’s almost like nothing has changed.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Rocinante said. “It’s not _exactly_ how it used to be, after all.”

“Do you ever miss it sometimes? You and me, I mean.” She looked at him with a meaningful gaze.

Rocinante tensed. He did miss it, if he was honest with himself. There was something so much simpler about those days. Happier, too. “...Sometimes,” he said.

Another man passed them on the path; a black-haired officer in sunglasses who had a piece of ham stuck to his face. Rocinante didn’t recognise him; it wasn’t terribly uncommon to see other officers from other cities in their down now, what with Sengoku being the head of the expanded Joker case. The man nodded to him and Rocinante slowly nodded in return.

He and Bellemere continued walking for a few minutes before Rocinante stopped. Bellemere raised an eyebrow at him. He turned back to look at the man that passed them. The officer took no notice of them.

“What is it?” Bellemere said.

“...No, it’s nothing,” Rocinante said, shaking his head. “He just seemed...familiar, somehow.”

 

* * *

 

Nico Robin was a strange woman. Rocinante still didn’t see her much, but whenever he did she always greeted him with that same curious smile. Once in awhile she would invite him to her office for coffee and tea and a polite conversation--about business, of course. He learned that Robin ran a very tight ship when it came to her work. Not a single hair was out of place.

That was probably how she managed to fool Crocodile so well. Had she not told Rocinante who she was, he would have actually believed she was handling the casino’s expenses purely because she loved it.

Rocinante and Robin managed to play the role of friends fairly well. That’s what they were supposed to be; old business associates who had worked together for a long time. From time to time they would go on little walks through the more private parts of the casino. Robin would say to him that she liked the quiet of the little corners of the place, and used them to think. There, she would talk to him, about books and history and other people. She was curious about Law, something that made Rocinante a little nervous. The friendship was staged, after all. He didn’t know anything about Robin personally. She always avoided answering personal questions about her family.

“When I first saw you, I didn’t really take you to be the kind of man to want a family,” Robin said.

“I wasn’t,” Rocinante answered. “Not at first. I was never all that good with children. Law was...a bit of a surprise.”

Robin looked at him. “How so?”

“I suppose he just...appeared in my life one night. We ended up meeting time and time again, and before I knew it I’d welcomed him into my home,” he said with a quiet chuckle, remembering how Bellemere had said something similar once. “If you had told me before then that I would end up adopting a child, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

“Fufufu,” Robin chuckled quietly. “But it was a change for the better, was it not?”

“I’d say so,” Rocinante said. “Things are a lot more stressful, but at the same time I feel a little more like I know what I’m doing. I’m more grounded now—if that makes any sense.”

“You said once that he was a prolific reader, didn’t you?” she asked. “I’d love to meet him someday. Depending on what he likes to read, I’d have plenty of recommendations for him. I even dabble a bit in writing myself.”

Rocinante was conflicted about that. He knew Law probably wouldn’t mind talking to another of his coworkers, especially if they shared the same interests with him. Soon it wouldn’t be much of a hassle for Robin to visit him outside of work either; he and Law were making the final decisions on which house they wanted, the choice narrowed down between a larger apartment and a tiny tri-level home in the suburbs of Alabasta. But did he want to mix this undercover job with his regular life? He wasn’t sure.

His thoughts were interrupted by Robin putting a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s here,” she said.

“Hm?” Rocinante said.

She pointed with her chin down the hall, and for the first time since he had arrived at Rain Dinners, Rocinante saw Crocodile.

The man didn’t pay any attention to him, and he probably didn’t care much that Rocinante was even in the room. He was talking with two other men; Rocinante recognised them as Daz Bones and Bon Clay, who was without his usual makeup for once. He couldn’t hear what they were saying; he was too far away. But he was caught up in the moment.

Rocinante had seen plenty of Crocodile in pictures, articles, on television. He hadn’t felt nervous about him then. He had seemed like any other crook that he had dealt with in the past. Being in the same room with Crocodile was completely different. There was something about the way he walked, how he didn’t say anything—he didn’t _need_ to say anything, really--that automatically put him above Rocinante.

Crocodile had a presence in the room unlike anyone else, and all of Smoker’s banter about how Crocodile was evil suddenly started to make perfect sense. He looked evil, with his resting scowl and ever-present cigar, and he dressed like any old mob boss might have. There was no incriminating evidence that he was still up to something, Rocinante reminded himself. He wasn’t going to let himself jump to conclusions. That never ended well.

Crocodile and his two vice presidents disappeared down a hallway that was exclusively for the administrators. Rocinante wanted to follow, but to do so would be suspicious. Making sure to check for anyone who might be watching, he approached the hallway curiously. The three men were still visible.

Rocinante couldn’t hear much from their conversation, but he could have sworn that he heard the words “Dance Powder” come from Bon Clay.


	9. Chapter 9

It had been a struggle to convince Law that it wasn’t a good idea to paint his new, larger bedroom in solid black. They’d gone back and forth for days on which color suited his furniture best; blue, white, grey, navy, and even green at one point. Eventually they settled on a nice shade of dark blue that they were both satisfied with. 

Rocinante wasn’t very experienced with painting, or house improvement in general. Their old apartment had been very bare in terms of color variation and he had no desire to change that. But the house they moved into was a little lacking, and now that they had free range to do anything they so wished, Law wanted to repaint. He helped Rocinante pick out a color for his room, and a color for the living room, though they left the other rooms bare. When they left the rented house, they would have to paint the walls white again. Repainting everything would be too much work.

Neither of them realized how messy and hard painting really was until the tarp had been put down, the trim was taped off, and they were both covered head to toe in little blue paint splotches. It took hours to finish, and by the end they were so exhausted that they simply sat in the middle of the room, back-to-back, admiring their handiwork.

“How long do we have to wait for it to dry?” Law asked.

“Hmm. I’d say at least a few hours,” Rocinante said. “But it would be good to wait a day or two before we move in the furniture.”

“Does that mean we have to sleep in the living room again?”

“Just for another couple of nights.” Rocinante looked at him. “You’re okay with that, right?”

Law nodded. “Mhm.”

A noise from down the hall caught their attention. Both Rocinante and Law turned toward the door.

“Was that a knock?” Rocinante asked. “Is someone here?”

Law got up and walked carefully across the paint-splattered newspaper. “I’ll go check!” he said, hurrying out the door.

Rocinante slowly stood up after he heard Law going down the stairs. Law reached the door before him and Rocinante could hear some muffled chatter as he opened it and let whoever was there inside. As Rocinante descended the stairs, Law walked into view closely followed by Robin. He stopped on the second to last step.

“Robin?” Rocinante said. “What are you doing here?”

“Sengoku sent me your new home address in case I needed it,” Robin replied. “I thought I should come for a visit.” She looked around at the stacks of boxes, equipment, and misplaced furniture. “I see you are still moving in. Is this a bad time?”

“We just finished painting,” Rocinante said. “A break would be more than welcome.”

Law looked between Rocinante and Robin, seeming confused. “I don’t remember her from before,” he said. “Does she work with you at your new job, Mr. Cora?”

“I do indeed,” Robin said, cutting off Rocinante’s response. She knelt down to look Law in the eye. “You must be Law, then. It’s nice to meet you in person. Your father talks about you quite a lot.”

Rocinante flinched. “Oh, ah, I’m not actually his--”

“He talks about me? What does he say?” Law asked Robin.

“Fufu. Yes, he always has something nice to say about you,” she said. “He told me that you really like to read. Is that true?” Law nodded, and Robin smiled a little. “I like reading a lot, too. I’ve even written a few books myself.” She looked at Rocinante out of the corner of your eye. “You’ve got a really nice dad, Law.”

“Yeah,” Law said, smiling a little himself. “He is.”

Rocinante felt his face flush a little. He was flattered that Law hadn’t gone and told Robin that he already had a family, had a different dad, and that Rocinante simply took care of him in their place. Robin stood up again and faced him.

“There is something that I would like to talk to you about,” she said.

“Oh, yes, sure,” Rocinante said. He looked to Law. “How about you go and take a break for a while, Law?”

“Aww, what?” Law pouted. “But I wanna hear what you’re gonna talk about.”

Robin chuckled. “It’s nothing very interesting, I’m afraid,” she said. “Mostly paperwork and the business end of things.”

“I don’t believe you,” Law said, squinting at her.

Robin opened a neat little folder covered in cats that she had under her arm, pulled out a sheet of paper, and handed it to him. “See for yourself,” she said.

Law snatched the paper away from her and looked at it. He read and read the paper a few times before he frowned. He handed it back to Robin, and she quickly stowed it away. “Whatever,” he said, walking up the steps beside Rocinante. “I’m gonna go read upstairs.”

“I’ll call you down once we’re finished and we’ll have lunch, okay?” Rocinante replied as Law walked off.

When Rocinante heard the door to his bedroom shut, and knew that Law was probably already picking out a book from the pile upstairs, he stepped down the last two stairs and approached Robin. She was filing the piece of paper away in the folder again.

“What exactly did you show him?” he asked.

“I gave him the monetary details of the crocodile fountain in the lobby. We had it fixed recently after one of the legs broke off,” she responded. “It’s nothing very exciting. Probably the least exciting of the items I brought with me.”

“I, ah, should we sit down for this?” Rocinante asked, gesturing toward the kitchen area. “It’s a bit of a mess right now, but we do have the table and chairs set up.”

The kitchen was a mess; mostly boxes with a slew of groceries on the counter. The table was the cleanest thing in the room, and even that had several boxes of screws, two cans of paint, and a few rollers on it. Rocinante settled in the chair by the window while Robin took the other, handing him the folder before she did. He opened it and scanned the contents; times and dates, places, and various other sheet data.

“What is all this?” he asked her.

“Some of my research,” Robin replied. “It’s a list of times and dates when I caught Crocodile’s underhanded business meetings. From what I can tell, he does most of his more unusual deals during the daytime hours.”

“Really? Isn’t that suspicious, having people come in during the day?”

“The shadier types come in with the general casino public,” she said. “We get enough questionable people coming in for general use of our facilities for them to seem inconspicuous. And with Crocodile needing them, it’s no wonder they can traverse the place freely.” Robin crossed her legs. “Some of his more powerful clients and allies, however, are much more careful.”

“You’ve worked with Crocodile for a while, right? Do you have any names of these people?”

Robin shook her head. “One would think that, by now, I could uncover something. But some of these people are relatively unknown, secretive, many of them use a series of aliases. I don’t even know if Crocodile himself is aware of their real names,” she said. “Not to mention that Crocodile keeps things unnaturally clean...it’s difficult to uncover any physical evidence.”

“You and Smoker would have a grand old time talking about this,” Rocinante said. “He’s been after Crocodile for almost two years now. Can’t get anything on him whatsoever.”

“Fufufu...Yes, Crocodile is always two steps ahead of everyone,” she said. “That said, I do have the advantage of him being unaware of what I am doing.” She reached over and touched a particular line of text. It was a timestamp, labeled with a particular place and date and some notes in fancy cursive. “Once every three months, Crocodile clears a two hour space in his schedule. It’s unlike Crocodile to leave this much time open for any reason, which makes this timeframe very unusual. So far I’ve gathered that he meets someone during this time.”

“Any ideas as to who it might be?” Rocinante asked.

“A few. Nothing definitive. He meets with this person at a different location each time, which makes it rather difficult to come to a conclusion.” She looked at him. “Several days ago, he met with this person, which gives us roughly three months to figure out the details of where his next visit will be. I can handle this myself, but I would appreciate a second ear to listen in.”

Rocinante nodded. “Of course,” he said. “You can always count on my help.”

 

* * *

 

Rocinante liked to think he was the most convincing of the crocodile keepers. Despite how exhausting the work was and how much he absolutely hated it, he came to work every day with a bright smile on his face. He was always ready to discuss the health of the animals, willingly volunteered to feed them and handle the animal carcasses, and he was quick to choose a random favorite; Sinai, one of the smaller crocodiles, who was missing a couple toes.

In time, as he aroused little suspicion and was soon accepted among his other coworkers, Rocinante had more mobility to explore. He would lurk around in the hallways under the guise of making deliveries, checking numbers with Robin, or simply getting something from a vending machine. He discovered that there were a number of shady characters lurking around in the dark corners, as Robin had told him before, which he was quick to report to Smoker.

But as to how he could get the real details about the casino, he was at a loss. So he kept up with his usual business conversing with Bon Clay in hopes of picking up something about their more underhanded business practices.

“I’ve been wondering about something for a while now,” Rocinante said one day while he collected a bunch of thawed rabbits into a bucket for the next feeding.

“Hmmmm? What’s that?” Bon Clay answered.

“This listing for this job said it was ‘urgent’. Was there something wrong with the last employee?”

“Oh! Yes, well,” Bon Clay began, “he was a bit squeamish, that one. He wasn’t very fond of all the dead rats and stuff in the freezer. Good thing you’re not, riiiight?” He laughed. “Welllll, I suppose the real reason he left was a bit vague…” He rubbed his chin. “Croco was pressuring him about something. I think it had something to do with Pearl?”

Rocinante raised an eyebrow. “Pearl?” he asked.

“Yes, that’s the little white crocodile in the boss’ office!” Bon Clay said. “She’s still just a hatchling--the cute little darling! Croco is very, very, very fond of her! I think he got upset when her keeper wasn’t handling her in a way that was up to his standards.”

“Huh,” Rocinante said. “He keeps an albino crocodile in his office?”

“Whaaaat? Don’t joke arroooouuund!” Bon Clay drawled on. “No, Pearl is leucistic. Don’t call her albino around Croco, or else he’ll get upset with you!”

Yet another unusual thing about Bon Clay was that he was the only one who called Crocodile “Croco” without any sort of malice behind it. Rocinante wondered how Crocodile was okay with that, as everything he ever heard about him suggested he would fling a man out of a window for arranging the flowers in the lobby incorrectly.

“I don’t think you’ve shown Pearl to me yet,” Rocinante said.

“Usually I just handle Pearl myself now, but I’m soooooo busy!” Bon Clay said, dramatically putting a hand to his forehead. “There’s so many people to look after, and with all the little crocodiles, there’s so many things that could go wrong! …But, see, this is where you come in!” He walked closer and patted Rocinante’s shoulders. “We can handle things here, but poor little Pearl needs her own private person to pamper her! I was waiting for the perfect moment to show her to you and it looks like that moment is now!”

The idea of pampering a little crocodile that could easily bite his fingers off was admittedly less than pleasing to Rocinante. However, since Pearl was located in Crocodile’s office, it would allow him into the space to look for anything unusual, and that was a start in the right direction. Because of the nature of the job itself, and how it was distanced from the hustle and bustle of the casino, it was rather difficult to collect proper reports on Crocodile other than through asking about his whereabouts, which always came off as odd. With access to Crocodile’s office, he could peek at his personal effects.

Maybe there was some incriminating evidence in there?

The office itself was located on the third floor and had a view of the menagerie that was second to none, save for the crocodile hut. Rocinante had never met Crocodile nor been inside the room before now. The door was stained a dark brown and it looked heavier than any of the others. The polished gold nameplate simply read ‘CROCODILE’.

“There are only three people with keys to the boss’ office,” Bon Clay said as he and Rocinante approached the door, “and that’s the boss, Daz, and also me! He doesn’t even let the custodians have one!”

“He trusts you with the key to his office?” Rocinante said incredulously.

“Don’t joke arooooound~! He doesn’t trust _anyone_ with _anything_!” Bon Clay said. “But waiting for him to come and unlock the door was a bit of a pain! And he’s been so busy too, it would be a problem if I disrupted one of his important meetings, you know.”

“I understand.”

“So, Croco just gave me the key and warned me about taking things from his office--’If I see one pen out of place, Bentham, it’ll be your head!’” he said in his best Crocodile impersonation voice. “He’s such a drama queen!” Bon Clay rolled his eyes as he unlocked the door. “As if I’d want anything from his room anyway…”

The heavy wooden door opened silently and the two walked inside.

Crocodile’s office was, unexpectedly, perhaps the most minimalist of the rooms in the casino. Yet Rocinante still assumed this room probably cost a hefty sum. It was pretty large after all.

The walls were covered in hand painted crocodile decorations--not wallpaper, as was the case in the majority of the rooms. Rocinante would swear that there was even gold leaf accenting the designs. Many framed images of the casino further accented the walls, and a few ancient stone artifacts from overseas placed on shelves behind thick glass. A heavy, glossy wooden desk sat in the middle of the floor.

The most noticeable part of the room, however, was the forty gallon tank placed on a pedastal along the left hand wall. Tucked in with Crocodile’s sparsely populated bookshelf was a little white crocodile hatchling; Pearl. She was resting under one of two heat lamps provided for her comfort and seemed to be asleep.

“There she is! She gets really sleepy around this time of day,” Bon Clay said. “Buuut! We don’t have time to let the little princess have her beauty rest!”

Bon Clay walked over to the tank and reached in. Pearl let out a squeal when he took her by the tail and she attempted to scramble away. It was a futile effort, though, as she was powerless against him. He held her out in front of him, one hand holding her gently behind the head and the other grasping her tail.

“Ta-da!” he said.

Pearl blinked at Rocinante, who felt a little uncomfortable being stared at by her inky black eyes. Her tiny feet reached out to try and grasp at anything but only ended up raking the air. Rocinante assumed that his boss was trying to entice him to hold Pearl; he wasn’t interested. But he pretended that the idea of working with the tiny crocodile excited him with a friendly smile.

“She’s beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a crocodile with these colors, not in person,” he said. “How do you usually care for her? Does she have any special requirements?”

Caring for Pearl was indeed a time consuming task. No only did she have to be fed daily on a diet of pinkie rats and crickets, but her enclosure had to be cleaned and maintained on a daily basis as well. Pearl didn’t dirty her tank too fast, but Crocodile required that everything in his office be tidy and neat for when he had private meetings. Any nasty smudges on the glass of his precious Pearl’s tank would not be tolerated.

Bon Clay showed Rocinante the basics of the clean-up process, showing him where everything was located--in Crocodile’s own private closet--and taught him the proper way to handle Pearl. When Rocinante was forced to hold her, she began a repetitive set of chirrups.

“She’s upset?” Rocinante asked.

“No, no, she just wants her mommy,” Bon Clay said. “Or, I suppose, in this case she wants Croco to come back from work. Pearl doesn’t much like it when people other than Crocodile handle her. But she’ll just have to deal with us--won’t you, Pearl?”

Rocinante looked down at the tiny crocodile in his hands. Pearl squeaked and squirmed, flailing her tiny arms around and around as if she could swim away from him. He laughed a little, as if he actually thought this was endearing. He wanted to put her back in the enclosure before the scaly little animal bit his fingers off.

“Sorry, Pearl, but you’re going to have to get used to this,” he said to her. She opened her mouth wide. “I’m going to be coming in here every day to see you.”

“I’m sure you two will be the best of friends!” Bon Clay said. “You’re always so gentle with the bigger crocodiles, Roci. Pearl will be so spoiled with you as her private servant!”

Rocinante nodded, and moved to put Pearl back in her tank. He felt the need to wash his hands, maybe twice over just to be safe. Who really knew what sorts of germs were on that damned lizard? But it was that damned lizard that bought him a ticket into the best spot to look for clues in the entire casino.

Smoker was going to love to hear about it.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks worth of Pearl’s daily feedings and weekly clean-ups told him that Crocodile didn’t spend much time in his office. That is, so long as Rocinante arrived at the right time. If he showed up between noon and three o’clock, Crocodile was in his office. But any time after that, Crocodile would be gone.

A few sneaky searches had shown that there were no cameras--or none that were out in the open, at least. Rocinante assumed there were at least a dozen encryptions and alarm systems on Crocodile’s computer hardware should anyone but him access it. He wasn’t ready to try messing with that yet. Each time, he would casually peek into a drawer, or a cabinet, or look around on the floor. If there was a hidden camera, or anyone asked about his bizarre behavior, he could easily play that off as nothing more than him searching for a dropped item, a missing item.

The security was lenient, strangely so, but if Crocodile was aware of exactly who came and went, and when each visit happened, then there wouldn’t be much need. All Rocinante had to do now was keep out of Crocodile’s sight. In, then out. No lingering.

On one particular afternoon, he borrowed the key from Bon Clay and made his way over to Crocodile’s office with a selection of pinkie rats and insects for Pearl. It was past time for Crocodile to have left for his usual business, so he wasn’t expecting him to be around. When he went to unlock it, however, he found that the door was already open. He flinched and, slowly, he opened it.

Crocodile was sitting at his desk. When Rocinante stepped into the room, Crocodile looked up. “Oh!” Rocinante said. He tipped his hat a bit. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Crocodile sized him up, probably taking Rocinante’s size to note, before he raised an eyebrow. “I don’t recognise you, which means you must be that new keeper,” he said, “The one that Sunday recommended to me? Frijoles Rocinante?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Rocinante said. “If you’re wondering why I’m here, it’s because Bon Clay had other arrangements.”

“Why else _would_ you be here, except to care for Pearl?” Crocodile said. He gestured to the little tank on the left side of the room with his prosthetic hand; a gold-alloy hook. Rocinante found himself staring at it for a long moment. “Do your damn job and then get out. I can’t afford to waste time on you.”

Rocinante nodded and set to work, watching Crocodile carefully out of the corner of his eye. Crocodile wasn’t watching him--or at least he didn’t seem to be. Rocinante went about his usual duties, feeding Pearl her insects and pinkie rats with a long pair of tongs. Her enclosure was tidy enough for him to skip a cleaning, and with Crocodile in the room he’d prefer not to stay around. He kept calm the whole time, smiled, and acted as if he wasn’t nervous.

Yet, when he began to collect his things and leave, Crocodile looked up and spoke again. “The tank,” he said. “It’s smudged.”

Rocinante looked at it. It did indeed have a few fingerprints and now that he looked at it again, he caught the bits of grime along one of the edges. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Silly me, forgetting to clean up. I’ll take care of that now.”

He reopened the tank, carefully setting aside the top, and picked up Pearl gently. She wriggled around as she always did. She chirped again and again. Crocodile tapped the desk with his hook and held out his right hand.

“Give her to me,” he demanded. “That’s what she wants.”

Rocinante did so, carefully passing the little leucistic crocodile over to her owner. Crocodile held her with a delicacy that Rocinante didn’t think he was capable of. Pearl stopped chirping. Held in her master’s large hand, she felt safe and comfortable. Crocodile stroked down her back with his thumb, which was very large in comparison to the tiny crocodile. She blinked twice and then closed her eyes in contentment.

“She certainly seems to like you,” Rocinante said, watching the scene with a grin. “I’ve never seen a crocodile so calm before.”

Crocodile regarded him like someone would an insect. “I expected no less from a rookie keeper,” he said. “Perhaps you were unaware, but I hold very high standards of care for my animals, and should I ever find that you are operating below those standards, your work here will be terminated.”

The way he said it, it sounded as though “terminated” had a secondary meaning. But Rocinante didn’t falter.

“Of course, sir,” Rocinante said. “Only the best for your lovely little Pearl, right?”

Crocodile hummed in response, attention now focused on the little hatchling in front of him. He let Pearl crawl along his desk and her tiny claws clicked against the wood. Rocinante had assumed that Pearl was simply a means for Crocodile to show his status, however now it seemed as though he was enamored with his highly dangerous pet.

Perhaps there was something to what Robin had said. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to all you awesome people who have been taking the time to comment!

With the mindset to become a better role model for Law, Rocinante finally gave up cigarettes, tossing his last stash of them into the garbage.

Quitting cold turkey was difficult enough; Rocinante had tried to do it several times before, persuaded by Bellemere or Sengoku, only to return to the habit a few days later. Stress was the excuse he always used, he needed the calming effect, to take a load off after a long day. Or night. Or whatever. He’d never say he was addicted, no. It was his choice to do it, not the opposite. And he could choose to stop at any time, which was what he did.

One week after this point, every single pen Rocinante owned or came in contact with became chewed beyond repair. Each time he filled out paperwork on anything he would end up gnawing on the end of one of his pens, dearly missing that feeling of something in his mouth. This behavior hadn’t gone unnoticed, as, suddenly, nobody was too interested in letting him borrow a pen. The once numerous cups of assorted pens and pencils mysteriously vanished, leaving Rocinante with only his ratty looking collection.

It didn’t help Rocinante’s case that several of his coworkers chose to smoke on their break, and that their idea of a break space happened to be right behind the crocodile hut. The smoke filtered in through open windows and doors as if the smell was seeking him out to bring him back. He made a point to keep doors shut and windows locked. Somehow, he could still catch a hint of the smell.

The situation only got worse when he discovered something new about Crocodile; he had a taste for custom-made cigars. A week and several days into Rocinante’s cigarette-free streak, he discovered Crocodile’s office to be a haze of cigar smoke. It made his eyes water but oh, _oh_ , that familiar smell was so inviting.

It didn’t take Crocodile long to notice that Rocinante was shaking.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” Crocodile asked.

“Ah, it’s nothing, sir,” Rocinante replied with his best faked smile.

Crocodile eyed him. He got up from his seat and went over to Rocinante, who watched him carefully. Once Crocodile was only a foot from him, he looked Rocinante over, perplexed by his behavior.

“You’ve been shaking for days now,” Crocodile said.

Rocinante took a moment to make up a good response, and then said, “Yes, I suppose I have. But I can assure you that I’m perfectly healthy, and that it won’t interfere with my work.”

A flicker of recognition appeared in Crocodile’s eyes, and Rocinante decided he didn’t like it one bit. The two of them said nothing to each other while Rocinante went about his business. He caught Crocodile working at his computer but couldn’t make out any of the details on the screen; it seemed like numbers, a few documents, emails, but he was too far away to make anything out.

As Rocinante was about to leave, Crocodile pulled open a drawer at his desk and withdrew a finely crafted cigar box. He saw Crocodile draw out a fresh cigar from it...but was surprised to see Crocodile hold it out to him with a sneer. Rocinante didn’t take it, instead eyeing it carefully before he went back to work.

“What? Don’t you want it?” Crocodile said.

“No, thank you.”

“These sorts of cigars are hard to come by,” Crocodile said. “Premium tobacco, handmade…”

Rocinante turned away, but he could still feel Crocodile’s gaze on his back. “Ah...yes,” Rocinante said. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to pass. I quit smoking a few weeks ago now. Thought it would be for the best, for my health and all.”

“ _Ha_.” Crocodile replaced the expensive cigar back in its box. Rocinante heard him approach, but didn’t realize how close he’d gotten was until he felt a cloud of smoke in his face. He coughed. “And here I thought you were _interesting_.”

Rocinante heard Crocodile chuckle to himself and he had half a mind to make some sort of retort. Deciding that it wouldn’t be a good idea, he simply headed out, ignoring Crocodile’s attempts at bothering him. But his body was beginning to react to the smoke and he crossed his arms in an attempt to hide the fact that they were shaking pretty violently.

He had been tempted, oh he’d been so tempted to reach out and take that cigar. But he didn’t want to admit that either. Instead he simply headed back off to fulfill the other daily business at the crocodile hut. When he reentered the building and approached Bon Clay, the other perked up.

“Don’t take this personally, Roci,” Bon Clay said, “but you _reek_ of cigarette smoke. You haven’t relapsed, have you?”

“No, no,” Rocinante said. “Crocodile decided that it was a better choice to smoke indoors today while I did the dailies. I learned the hard way about that room’s awful ventilation.”

Bon Clay’s reaction was the opposite of what he expected.

“The nerve of that man!” Bon Clay exclaimed. “Doesn’t he know that the smoke will ruin the interior? It clings to the wallpaper and furniture...He’s normally so careful with it, always goes outside or down in the casino. And dear, sweet little Pearl, oh! That secondhand smoke isn’t good for her either…” He shook his head. “What possessed him?”

Rocinante shook his head, and Bon Clay went away in a huff, probably to give Crocodile a piece of his mind. Once Bon Clay was out of sight, he frowned. So Crocodile _was_ just trying to mess with him after all. But why he would risk Pearl’s health to do so was a mystery to him.

 

* * *

 

A nagging feeling in the back of Rocinante’s mind told him to avoid asking Law about his past. It told him that some things were better left unsaid. He wanted Law to be happy, to stay happy, and if bringing up old memories could potentially ruin that happiness, he wanted nothing more that to ignore it. But he couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t, not when there was potential danger to himself, to Law, and to the people around him.

Which prompted him to leak details about his own secret mission, despite being told over and over about its confidentiality. It would be a slow process, only telling Law bits and pieces in exchange for small details from Law’s hidden past. Today he was planning to leak the identity of Crocodile, whom Law was familiar with from before, when Smoker had detained him.

Rocinante knocked on the door to Law’s room, despite it being open. “Hey, Law?” he said.

“What?” Law answered.

He was in the middle of unpacking and organizing his collection of books. It had taken them so long to finish the aesthetic parts of their house that only recently had they finished off Law’s room and moved all of the furniture in. Law’s collection of books had been patiently waiting in the garage, and it seemed that he couldn’t wait another moment to put them away in his new bedroom. At the moment they were covering his floor, his bed, and his desk as Law tried to organize them by size, shape, and content.

Law had so many books now that Rocinante purchased a second matching bookshelf for his room. There were novels, some new ones, some old from Rocinante’s personal collection, and even some from Robin. Medical books, anatomy for children, and various other textbooks made up the other half of Law’s collection.

“I was thinking that you and I could have another little secret sharing session,” Rocinante said, gently waving a piece of paper in his hand. Law looked at it with interest. “I’ll leak a couple more things about what I’m up to, and in return you tell me another bit about your past. Deal?”

Law seemed hesitant at first, but then he smirked. “Only if your secret’s worth it!” he said.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be.”

Rocinante walked into Law’s room, being mindful to avoid the stacks of books. Pushing aside a set of six mystery novels--from Robin, probably--he settled down on the end of Law’s bed. Law put down the books in his hand and settled next to him. Rocinante unfolded the piece of paper in his hand and passed it over to Law. Law held it with both hands.

It was a picture of Crocodile. Not just any picture, but the mugshot picture that Smoker had taken when he was first detained on small charges. Law seemed to recognise him immediately. He looked up at Rocinante.

“Isn’t this the guy Smoker arrested?” he asked.

“Yes, he’s the same man,” Rocinante said. “His name is Crocodile.”

“Smoker told me that already. That’s still a horrible name,” Law said, wrinkling his nose. “Who would want to be named Crocodile?”

“We’ve all got different tastes, I suppose.” Rocinante shifted on the bed. “But the reason why I’m showing you this is that this man wasn’t actually sent to prison that night.” Law looked up at him, surprised. “You see, his right hand man, Daz Bones, paid his bail and he was allowed to go.”

“You mean this guy is running around outside right now? Isn’t that a bad idea, Mr. Cora? What if he does something bad all over again?”

“Yes, well,” Rocinante said. “That’s where I come in. The reason I’m here in Alabasta--that _we’re_ here in Alabasta--is to see if he’s up to anything.”

Law tilted his head, confused. “Does he work at the casino, too?” he asked.

“Not quite. He owns it.”

Realization dawned on Law’s face as he connected the earlier information to this new information. “So that’s why you guys think bad stuff is happening there…” Law trailed off. Then, he looked up again. “How come you and Smoker haven’t taken him back in yet? He _looks_ evil enough to go back in.”

“Well, it’s not so simple. But that’s a story for another time.” Rocinante looked at Law with a small smile. “Whenever you’re ready, Law.”

“...I guess I could talk about the place where I lived,” Law said. His eyebrows furrowed as if he was straining to remember the exact details.  “Umm...It was kinda a big building. There were a lot of us there. I don’t know where it was exactly, they never let me go outside.”

“Was that man there?” Rocinante asked. “The one that brought you there, I mean.”

Law shook his head. “I didn’t see him after that,” he said. “I asked about him, but one of them told me that he was busy doing other things.”

“Would you happen to remember any of the other people there?”

“I do,” Law said with a nod. “We all used code names while we were there so I don’t really know who everyone was. There was Buffalo and Baby 5...they were around my age, I think. And then there was--”

Rocinante looked down at Law, shocked. “There were _other_ children where you were?” he asked. “You weren’t the only one abducted?” Law shook his head. Rocinante looked away, cupping a hand over his mouth. “Mmm...Did you...did you ever try to escape? Any of you?”

“I didn’t, not at first. I don’t know if Baby 5 and Buffalo ever did, I never asked, but they didn’t try to leave ever. They seemed pretty happy there.”

Which unnerved Rocinante greatly. Someone--possibly his brother--was going around abducting children. He supposed he could understand the motivation behind taking Law, but what might have happened with the other two? Had they been in similar situations? Were they, too, lost and afraid when they had been taken?

“Law,” Rocinante began, “If I...if I asked you to identify these children from pictures, could you?” Law was quiet for a moment before he nodded. Rocinante smiled a little. “Thank you.”

“Are you gonna go out and find them?” Law asked, looking up at Rocinante with an odd expression on his face.

“I can try.”

“I think that’s a bad idea, Mr. Cora,” Law said. “Cause they don’t want to leave. Those people were their family. That’s what they told me.” Law stretched out his legs and stared down at his socks. “I told them they could come with me when I tried to leave. They told me that leaving was a stupid idea.”

This could have meant that these children had been there for an extended period of time, long enough to brainwash them into believing that their kidnappers truly were trying to help them. The situation Law had come from was beginning to sound more and more like Doflamingo’s handiwork and less like some average felon looking to line his wallet with cash. Rocinante trusted his intuition about this, and he was definitely going to have a chat with Sengoku later.

Children. Doflamingo was recruiting children into his crime circle. Children Law’s age, maybe younger, maybe a bit older, but still just _children_. The very idea made his stomach churn and he felt ill.

“Thank you for telling me this, Law,” Rocinante said. “I appreciate it.” 

Now Rocinante had planned to find those missing children that Law had described to him, but there was always an issue with missing children; the police records had thousands of missing children reports. Without a name, a surname, a birthdate, or any other significant detail, it would be like looking for a needle in thousands of haystacks. Law’s descriptions of the children eliminated a number of older missing persons reports, but even then there were dozens upon dozens of candidates.

The station featured an online database as well as hard copies, and for nearly three hours Rocinante worked on paging through them. He scrolled past each picture, either noting them as a possible suspect for Law to look at, or dismissing them. The computer screen was beginning to burn his eyes, but he pushed on into the night, finger clicking from page to page in a monotonous pattern.

At some point, someone came up behind him and tapped on his shoulder. He perked up and turned in his chair to look behind him. Sengoku was looking down at him.

“What on earth are you doing here so late?” Sengoku asked him.

Rocinante nodded at the screen. “Looking into something,” he said.

Sengoku examined the computer monitor and then hummed in response. “Missing children again?” He eyed Rocinante curiously. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “You didn’t find another little boy running around in the woods, did you?”

“I managed to get more information out of Law, and this time he told me about some other missing children who were with him,” Rocinante said. “I don’t have any names or dates to go by, just some descriptions. It’s...taking a while.”

“Come up with any possible matches yet?”

“A few,” Rocinante said. He tapped a finger on a fairly substantial stack of papers with various children’s faces on them. “I sorted out a lot of the older missing child reports and it did narrow things down quite a bit. But I still need Law to confirm whether or not any of these are those missing children.”

Sengoku picked up part of the stack. He examined each child’s face slowly, analyzing them all as if he might recognise one himself. Rocinante heard the papers rustle as he went through them all. Then he frowned.

“It boggles my mind that Doflamingo would do something like this. I can understand recruiting young, easily influenced teenagers into his little gang, but kidnapping _children_?” Sengoku and Rocinante shared a look. “Have you confirmed with Law that it was indeed Joker that took him?”

“...No, not yet.” Rocinante answered slowly, knowing full well that Sengoku was judging him. “I don’t know what his experience was there, Sengoku. What if I make him remember something traumatic?”

“It was understandable then, but now you’re being far too soft on him,” Sengoku said, dropping the stack of papers back down on the desk. “Law might have vital information for us. What are you waiting for? I know you’d like to see Doflamingo behind bars as much as I do. The sooner he’s been taken care of, the safer we’ll all be.”

Sengoku left him to his work. Rocinante watched him leave and sighed through his nose. Law wasn’t even thirteen years old, still very much so a kid. The last thing Rocinante wanted for him was to be pulled into the station and drilled for answers that may or may not be relevant to Doflamingo.

Though...what if he _was_ just being paranoid? Rocinante slowly turned to look down the hallway where Sengoku had gone. Doflamingo wasn’t the only villain out there. It was entirely possible that some other, random kidnapper was swiping children. The importance of the information remained the same, but the personal connection would no longer be relevant.

He turned back the the computer screen and resumed searching through pictures.

 

* * *

 

From time to time, Bon Clay would disappear from his office in the crocodile hut to take care of business elsewhere, and in his place Rocinante would hold down the fort. He was skilled at his job now, having quickly picked up what to do in place of the head keeper. He kept up his friendly, cheerful charade, and everyone seemed to like his presence. In time, as he came to trust Rocinante more, Bon Clay would take off for longer periods of time. Rocinante used these windows to peek around at the things in and around Bon Clay’s desk.

Much unlike the usual style of the casino, Bon Clay collected swan themed knick knacks and ornaments. He had a special mug with a swan’s head and neck serving as the handle. There was a plushie by the computer and pictures of the animals taped to the side of the cubicle. Other than that, there wasn’t much else out of the ordinary, Rocinante discovered.

He usually expected other keepers and the occasional package to be signed for. But one day, Crocodile himself appeared. It was surprising, but not quite a shock. Rocinante knew that he and Bon Clay discussed the animals from time to time, and he also knew how much of a soft spot Crocodile had for them. When he approached Crocodile, he smiled his best fake smile and tipped his hat.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asked Crocodile.

“Where is Bon Clay?” Crocodile asked.

“There was something else he needed to take care of,” Rocinante said. “But I can assure you, I can help you with whatever you needed in his place.”

Crocodile ignored his response, walking past him and down the hall. He stopped at the wall of all the clipboards featuring the crocodile’s health and diet details. He picked one in particular off of its hook on the wall, read through it, and flipped to the next page.

“I was informed that Sinai had gotten an infection,” Crocodile said. “How is his health?”

Hearing the name of his designated favorite crocodile, Rocinante got up alongside Crocodile, looking over his shoulder at the information--which wasn’t difficult, as he was much taller than Crocodile.

“Ah, yes, he was acting strangely for the past few weeks. He didn’t respond much to food or the enrichment watermelons. He usually really enjoys playing with those,” Rocinante said, eyeing the information scribbled down on the papers as if he was actually interested. “We’ve got him on medication now, but I’ve been keeping a close watch on him.”

“Have you now?”

Rocinante nodded. “Yes, I’ve been worried about him,” he said with his best concerned voice. “Sinai’s my favorite of the bunch, so when I found out he was sick I made sure to keep an extra close eye on him in case anything changed.” He looked at Crocodile with a soft smile. “I’m the one who makes sure he takes his medication as well. I can only hope he recovers quickly.”

Crocodile grunted, but said nothing. He replaced the clipboard back on the wall and turned to leave, bumping Rocinante in the process. Rocinante eyed him as he went for the door, seemingly content with the knowledge he had gotten.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Rocinante asked.

Crocodile stopped in the doorway. He turned halfway around and looked at Rocinante with a sneer. From his pocket, he withdrew a balled up handkerchief, and he tossed it at Rocinante, who caught it.

“Clean that shit off your face,” Crocodile said. “It’s embarrassing.”

He closed the door roughly as he left.


	11. Chapter 11

Rocinante found that he missed Bellemere’s presence more than he previously thought. Living so far away meant he would have to plan visits days, if not weeks, in advance. He couldn’t simply fill the void she left with Smoker and Tashigi either, as they too were some distance away. It left Rocinante feeling rather lonely and friendless. He was pretty friendless anyway, he supposed. All of his friends were coworkers, past or present. Work always took so much time that he didn’t really focus on socializing.

He never really talked about it openly, but Robin seemed to pick up on this fact. The way she went about dealing with it was subtle; she would “randomly” bump into him at work or happen to be leaving at the same time, and would head home with him. Most of what they chatted about was work related, of course.

Somehow, she befriended Law. Robin was always reading, and always had something new to tell Law, who ravenously devoured any books or facts that she imparted to him. And with that budding book club friendship, Rocinante got asked almost every day he came home if Robin was with him.

This particular evening was no different; Rocinante returned home with Robin following along behind him. The moment they entered the house, Law rushed up to them, grinning ear to ear.

“Hey, Mr. Cora!” he greeted. “Oh--and Miss Robin is here too?”

“For a little bit,” Rocinante said. “There something I need to get for her, and then she’ll be off.”

“Aww,” Law said with a sigh. Then, he perked back up again and looked at Robin, eyes hopeful. “Did you bring it this time?”

Robin smiled at him. “Why, yes, actually,” she said. “I packed it this morning.” From her purse she withdrew and old, worn novel and she handed it to Law, who was grinning excitedly. “It might not look the best anymore, but I can assure you it’s worn from love,” she said. “That one is one of my favorites.”

“I’ll take good care of it,” Law replied. As Rocinante went for the stairs, Law called to him, “Hey! Is Robin gonna come with us to dinner?”

Rocinante stopped at the second step. He turned around to face them, hand resting on the railing for support. “I...didn’t ask,” he said sheepishly. Robin looked at him curiously. “Law and I were going to try out one of the restaurants in town. We always go out on Fridays, to, ah, spend a little quality time together.”

“Is that so?” Robin said. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your quality family time.”

“You won’t,” Law insisted. “It’s okay.” He looked at Rocinante, eyes sparkling. “She can come with us, right? You don’t mind?”

“I don’t have any problems with it,” Rocinante said with a shrug. “Robin, you don’t mind hanging out here for a little bit while I change, right? I can’t go out and eat while I’m still covered in crocodile slime and rat guts.”

“Fufu, of course,” Robin said, waving him away. “I’m sure that Law will keep me company while I wait, won’t you Law?”

“Yeah! Of course!” Law looked at the book in his hands. “Can you tell me what this book is about?”

“I’d love to. This book is a part of a series, there are five more books that come after it…”

Rocinante headed up the stairs, Robin’s voice quieting as he did. He smiled and shook his head at their conversation. Robin’s book collection was all over Law’s desk. If she shared any more with him, Law was going to need a third shelf in another room just to keep things neat and orderly.

He entered his bedroom and tossed his green and gold hat onto the bed. He caught sight of himself in the mirror; or, more specifically, he caught sight of the awful hat hair he now had. With a sigh, he ran his fingers through it. That would look awkward if he just left like that, maybe he’d spruce it up before they left. Carefully, he undid each button on his shirt--which turned out to be as troublesome as usual, as the buttons were too small and his hands too shaky. When it was finally open, he shed it and tossed it aside over the hat. Good riddance to both.

He stretched out his arms over his head and behind him. Crocodile had him scrubbing the damn forty gallon tank by hand, and he could still smell the stench. The cleaning had done a number on his back, what with him spending several hours hunched over, and he was about ready for a nap. But instead he went to his closet to pick through his shirts. Would it be better to pass on the heart shirt with Robin around?

“Hey, Mr. Cora! Robin wanted to know if...Oh.”

The door creaked, and Rocinante whirled around. Law was standing there. He’d left the door open--he usually shut and locked it.

He felt Law’s eyes boring into him, staring at his bare chest and each and every scar that was on it. Rocinante couldn’t tell if Law was mortified, or bothered, or uncomfortable--or what he was feeling, and it made him all the more nervous. There was a reason he’d been so careful about not letting Law see him before, why he kept to long sleeves and only undressed behind the safety of a locked door. Rocinante crossed his arms and looked away.

“Wow,” Law said. “You’ve got a lot of scars, Mr. Cora.” He approached slowly, cautiously. “Did you get all of those from working as a police officer?”

“...Some of them,” Rocinante mumbled.

Law looked him over, back and front, and Rocinante watched him carefully. Then, he stopped behind Rocinante...and a moment later, Rocinante tensed up when he felt Lew poke him on his lower back.

“It’s this one, right?” he asked.

“What?”

“This is where I stabbed you that one time. I remember it,” Law said. “The scar’s only as big as my fingertip—I thought it was bigger than this.”

Rocinante released the breath that he didn’t know he was holding and smiled faintly. “It was only a little knife,” Rocinante said. “A little knife will only leave a little mark.”

“It wasn’t little,” Law insisted.

“Yeah, that’s cause _you’re_ little, too,” Rocinante said, reaching down to ruffle Law’s hair. Law made an annoyed noise, but he was smiling anyway. “I’m lucky it was only tiny, too. Because of that, I didn’t take a whole lot of damage from it.”

Law walked around to Rocinante’s front and looked up at him. His smile disappeared, and immediately Rocinante knew what he was eyeing. Hesitantly, Law reached up and touched one of those certain bullet wound scars. Rocinante froze, and, preparing for Law to ask about it, began to think of an alternate reason for those particular scars. But then Law pulled back and looked down, his expression thoughtful.

“...I guess I forgot about all the stuff that cops do,” Law said. “You guys go out and get all the bad people, and...you guys get hurt sometimes too, don’t you?” He looked up at Rocinante, eyes filled with worry. “That scar’s really close to your heart, Mr. Cora, did you almost…?”

“No,” Rocinante said. “No, it was alright. I was fine. They took me to the hospital and made me all better.” He knelt down to look Law in the eyes. “It looks a lot worse than it actually was, trust me.”

“Really?” Law asked. Rocinante nodded, but this didn’t alleviate Law’s concern. “...You do a lot of really dangerous stuff all the time, don’t you? And...and there’s all this new stuff with that Croc guy...you must get new scars all the time…”

In an instant Rocinante knew where Law was going. He put his hands on Law’s shoulders. “Hey,” he said. “Hey, I’m going to be alright. Nothing is going to happen to me.” Law sniffed. “Things can get a little dangerous and scary sometimes, I’ll admit, but I promise you that I’ll always be alright.”

“But what if it’s not alright?” Law said. “Sometimes things seem okay, and then they’re not, and then--and then bad things happen…”

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” Rocinante repeated. “And just in case, I’ll be extra safe and stay away from anything too dangerous. Okay?” Law nodded slowly. “Now, what was it you wanted to tell me about Robin?”

“...Oh, yeah!” Law said, seeming surprised that he even forgot in the first place. “Robin wanted to know if we should all ride together instead of separately. She said if we all go together, it’ll save a little time and gas.”

“That’s fine. But we’ll have to clean out the back seat,” Rocinante said. “Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll go do it right now!” Law said. He hurried to the door, but then stopped and turned back to smile at Rocinante. “...You don’t have to hide those scars anymore, if you don’t want to. I won’t tell anyone else about them.”

“...Thank you, Law,” Rocinante said. “I appreciate it.”

As Law disappeared, pulling the door shut behind him, Rocinante went to find the shirt he had been hunting for. He pulled it out from his closet and looked it over with a sigh. It felt wrong to lie to Law, but it had also been so easy to do so. And the last thing he wanted was to get Law all worried about him, right? The past was in the past and though it had been extremely rough then, he was okay _now_.

So long as he was careful, that promise wouldn’t be so hard to keep.

 

* * *

 

Smoker invited Rocinante to spend the evening with him and Tashigi on a Sunday, for work related business but also for some much needed catching up. Law was also invited, and was rather excited as he had never visited Smoker’s apartment before. Smoker's mix-breed dog, Wanda, took an immediate liking to Law and kept him company on the couch. But about halfway into the get-together, Law was burned out from talking and socialization, bored from listening to small talk, and ended up escaping to a bedroom to read one of the books Robin gave him in peace and quiet, Wanda following in tow.

When Law disappeared, and they were sure that he couldn’t hear, that was when the real secrets were spilled. Rocinante swapped stories about his painfully long sessions in Crocodile’s office, about Crocodile’s miserable personality and the endless list of things he needed to do for Pearl. He told about his searches for evidence, and the lack thereof. Smoker was pleased to finally have Rocinante agree that Crocodile was a public menace.

“I don’t know if I’d call him that just yet,” Rocinante said. “While he’s definitely moody and unpleasant he hasn’t given me any reason to outright _despise_ him.”

“What? Oh, come on, Cora,” Smoker said. “Hasn’t that private investigator spilled more than enough details about the shadier shit he gets up to? Surely you’re suspicious by now. And with the way he talks, I wouldn’t put it out of the question for him to kill, or have killed, someone either.”

“You’re being too rash again, Smoker,” Tashigi said. “We don’t have any reason to believe that Crocodile killed anyone, not yet.” Smoker let out a huff. “But what we _do_ have is a lot possible leads that point to connections with local gang leaders.” She pushed up her glasses. “Nothing conclusive just yet, of course. But I trust Robin will figure everything out. Every time we work with her, she always does.”

“You guys have worked with Robin before?” Rocinante said, eyebrows raising. Smoker and Tashigi both nodded and Rocinante sighed. “Am I the only one out of the loop? Sengoku barely told me anything about her.”

“That’s because he barely knows anything about her,” Smoker said. “We don’t know much either, except that she gets the job done. She’s quick, reliable, and knows what she’s doing. That’s all that we need to know.”

That wasn’t enough for Rocinante, who had to work with her day in and day out and assumed on principle that she was an ally. It struck him as odd that Sengoku wouldn’t know much about her, as he tended to know more than anyone else did at any given time. Rocinante wondered if he was the only one who knew anything else about Robin.

“Speaking of Robin, she and I have plans to corner one of Crocodile’s...associates one of these days,” Rocinante said. “And as I’ve said before, I have access to his personal office now. I’m hoping to get some names or records soon enough.”

“I’ve still got this feeling,” Smoker said. “I trust my gut on this one, and it tells me that Crocodile’s up to something nasty. Nastier than this whole Dance Powder issue.” Rocinante simply shook his head and Tashigi blew a piece of hair out of her face. “I _will_ get that evidence, damn it! You’ll see!”  He pulled a pack of cigars from his coat pocket. “Agh, shit, I’m all riled up now. I’m gonna have a smoke. You want one, Cora?”

Rocinante’s first instinct was to reply with a yes, but he stopped himself and shook his head. “No, thank you. I quit.” he said.

“...Oh, that’s right, isn’t it? Sorry. It’s been too long, I forgot,” Smoker said. He got up from his seat. “Guess that means I should go outside, then. I’ll be back in a second.”

Smoker took his cigars and left Tashigi and Rocinante alone in his kitchen. When Rocinante heard the door shut, he turned to Tashigi. “Smoker’s as lively as ever, I see,” he said. “Once he latches onto a case, he never gives it up.”

“It’s nice that he’s so devoted to keeping everyone so safe, but I do worry,” Tashigi said. “I think the stress of this case is taking its toll. The sooner we can resolve it, the better. We all can sleep at night once it’s over.”

“Agreed,” Rocinante said. “I never thought I’d miss Moriah’s sorry face, but at this point I’d much rather be giving out speeding tickets and parking violations than dealing with Pearl.” He shook his head.

“How are things in Alabasta?” Tashigi asked him. “With you and Law, I mean.”

“It’s very different, I’ll admit,” Rocinante said. “But I don’t mind the difference. It’s an experience. The city has a lot to offer, there’s never a dull day.”

Life in Alabasta really wasn’t so bad. The city had a unique atmosphere and the neighbors were fairly friendly. It wasn’t anything like home, of course, but it did make for some interesting little adventures. Rocinante used his extra time to take Law out and about in the city, something that Law enjoyed greatly. They toured the city’s several book stores and sampled a few restaurants as well.

The house slowly came together, each thing put into its rightful place. And when they did, Rocinante noticed how much space they had. They both made the decision to fill it slowly, as neither of them were really big spenders. Occasionally while they were out, one of them would see something; a decoration to hang on the wall, a little coffee table for the living room, some little knick-knack for a shelf. The house was becoming more homely with time.

“When all of this blows over, do you think we could visit your new place?” Tashigi asked. “Smoker won’t admit it, but he misses you and Law. Maybe we’ll invite Bellemere too. A big reunion would do us all some good.”

Rocinante chuckled. “Of course,” he said. “Law and I would enjoy that a lot. He’ll probably get tired fairly quick, though.” He glanced in the direction of the room where Law was hiding out. “He’s a pretty introverted kid.”

“Law wants to be a doctor, doesn’t he?” Tashigi said.

“Just like his parents,” Rocinante said.

Tashigi blinked in surprise. “That’s right, isn’t it? I’d forgotten they were both doctors.”

“I’ve been wondering somethin’ for a while now.” Rocinante and Tashigi turned to see Smoker standing in the doorway. He pointed to the room where Law was with his chin. “How much does he know about all of this? About your ‘new job’?”

“The basics,” Rocinante said. “He knows where I work and who I’m trying to stop, but he doesn’t know anything else.”

“Keep it that way,” Smoker said. “Best not to get Law involved in all this mess. He’s had it rough enough already.”

Smoker was probably right. Law was better off not being troubled with keeping police secrets. However, Rocinante couldn’t deny that Law wanted to know them, that he could use those secrets to sway Law to talk more about his own kept secrets. Rocinante eyed the door warily. Law wasn’t listening in, was he?

Smoker and Tashigi seemed to share his thought as the room went silent. No one made a single sound.

“Law sure is quiet,” Tashigi said.

“Too quiet,” Smoker chimed in.

Rocinante looked at both of them before he got up and went to the bedroom door. Turning the knob slowly, he attempted to push the door open. Something was in the way. He furrowed his eyebrows. He pushed the door open enough to peek inside. Law was nowhere to be seen. In a moment of panic, he looked around the room frantically...until his eyes caught sight of Law’s spotted hat. He was asleep, leaning up against the door. Wanda, who was laying her head on his lap, looked up at him and wagged her curly, fluffy tail happily.

Rocinante smiled and looked back at Smoker and Tashigi. “Looks like my little troublemaker was trying to get some juicy police intel,” he whispered, “but he passed out before he could get any.”

Tashigi laughed quietly. “Maybe it’s about time you two went on home then, huh?” she said.

 

* * *

 

Crocodile was studying him.

He didn’t really notice it at first. Crocodile usually kept a careful eye on him as a given, however the judgmental gaze of his boss critiquing his work changed into…blatant staring whenever Crocodile thought Rocinante wasn’t watching. He had assumed that Crocodile was only trying to pressure him into working harder--and he did try even harder as a result. Yet there was something noticeably different about Crocodile’s behavior that he couldn’t place.

Luckily, Rocinante could focus on Pearl instead. He put his mind into the work, and tried his best to forget that Crocodile was even around. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get away from Crocodile. He was getting better and better every day at crocodile care, and as he improved the work went by quicker.

Rocinante glanced at his watch; three-forty. Crocodile was usually long gone by now, off to meetings, public appearances, to count his money--whatever it was that he did when he went out. Yet he stayed put. He seemed to be occupied with some computer work, judging by the occasional clicking and typing, but Rocinante continued to catch his gaze out of the corner of his eye. Rocinante didn’t like it one bit.

What the hell did he want?

Once Pearl was satisfied with her dinner and the streaks on the glass disappeared, Rocinante stowed the cleaning gear away in the closet, picked up his bucket, bid farewell to Crocodile, and opened the door to leave.

“...Rocinante, was it?”

Rocinante paused in the doorway, bucket in hand. He hadn’t expected Crocodile to speak to him. Slowly, he turned to face Crocodile, who was looking at him from his seat with a strange expression that Rocinante could not identify.

“Yes, that’s my name,” Rocinante said. “Is there something you need?”

Crocodile eyed him for a moment before smiling an almost sinister grin. “You could say that,” he said.

From a neat pad of paper beside him, he tore off a fresh sheet, scribbled something down quickly, and then folded it. He pushed his chair back and stood up. Rocinante watched Crocodile take his time approaching him, slow and deceiving, like a predator going after prey. He held out the folded paper at arm’s length and Rocinante took it from him. He unfolded it carefully. There was an address written down on the inside, one that he didn’t recognise.

“This is…?” Rocinante trailed off, looking at Crocodile with genuine confusion.

“The address for my personal residence,” Crocodile said flatly. Then, he chuckled and added, “You should take that as a compliment. It’s not often that I meet someone who is...tolerable enough for me to give out that address.“

At that point, Rocinante knew exactly what Crocodile wanted, and he felt every hair on his body stand on end. There was a certain glimmer in his eye, something about how he was eyeing Rocinante confirmed that this was not a matter of business. Or maybe it was, in Crocodile’s world. He vaguely remembered his brother doing something similar from time to time. The idea was so repulsive that Rocinante would never, ever in his right mind seek it out.

But the address in his hand...he looked down at it again, scanning the details. If he did choose to...visit with Crocodile, this would be an excellent opportunity to find something, anything he could use for his case. Surely there was _something_ laying around?

“Why are you giving this to me?” Rocinante asked, deciding to play dumb.

“Why?” Crocodile stepped closer to him. He reached with his hooked hand and pushed Rocinante’s chin up. “Because I need you to do me a favor, of course. And you certainly are adept at those, are you not?”

“I...I’d say so. Yes, sir.”

Crocodile pulled away. “Good boy,” he said. He went away to retrieve his coat from the back of his leather rolling chair. “Saturday night. I will be unoccupied by eight o’clock in the evening. Don’t be late.”

Crocodile threw his coat over his shoulders and pushed past Rocinante, a smirk still present on his lips. Rocinante watched him leave; Crocodile didn’t even so much as look back at him. That was probably meant to be taken as an insult. Rocinante was nothing more than another toy, a pawn to him. Rocinante gently rubbed the paper in his hands and his expression darkened.


	12. Chapter 12

The ceiling of Crocodile’s room was decorated with carefully etched spirals and stylized trim. It, like a lot of Crocodile’s nicer things, was styled by hand, no doubt, and was in itself a unique piece of art. Under other circumstances, he never would have noticed how intricately decorated his ceiling was never crossed Rocinante’s mind. Yet here he was, lounging in Crocodile’s bed, twisted up in Crocodile’s sheets, staring up at the ceiling. Crocodile himself was nowhere to be seen, presumably having left some time ago. He let out a quiet sigh and rubbed his forehead. Of course things had to end up this way.

Slowly, he sat up, and he leaned  against the heap of pillows piled against the headboard. His entire body ached; he felt crusty, unclean, and overall sick to his stomach. He glared at the side of the bed where Crocodile had been. Of course he would leave without a word, it fit his character all too well. But it also was very careless of him to leave Rocinante alone in his home.

He spotted a note on the nightstand, picked it up and read it carefully. “You are allowed to use the facilities,” was all that it said.

Though unsigned, Rocinante recognized the handwriting as Crocodile’s. He huffed. At least the man had _some_ decency...though, he supposed, he already knew that. Crocodile hadn’t removed Rocinante’s shirt last night, or asked why Rocinante needed to keep it on. He pulled the mess of sheets and duvet off of himself and shuffled off to the bathroom. It was large, too clean, and outside of the used towel hanging on a hook on the wall, had little signs of human activity.

Rocinante caught sight of himself in the mirror; and he looked about as awful as he felt. He hadn’t bothered removing his makeup, and now it was smeared around on his face. The blue was streaked down his right cheek and the red was missing in spots...probably from when Crocodile had kissed him. He snorted. No doubt there had been red lipstick all over Crocodile’s face and neck when he got up.

When Rocinante undid his shirt he found the bite marks on his neck and made a face. He ran a hand over them. Crocodile hadn’t been gentle, and hadn’t seemed to care much about Rocinante. Which wasn’t a surprise by any means. Crocodile didn’t seem like the type of person to care about other people’s feelings.

Showering didn’t make Rocinante feel better. Now he only smelled more like Crocodile; of expensive shampoo and strange, exotic soaps. And the water did little to wash away the memories of last night, of Crocodile’s fingernails and teeth on his body, his gaze, that smile, and that _voice_...he shook his head. It was better not to think about it. He put his shirt back on, which was sweaty and unclean, but with no change of clothes it would have to do for now.

When he returned to the bedroom, he heard a familiar sound. From his pants pocket, his phone buzzed over and over again. Rocinante looked at it with confusion before he realized something; it was late morning. He hadn’t told Law where he was going last night. Law didn’t know where he was. He scrambled to find his phone, nearly tripping in the process, and answered it immediately when he did.

“Law?” he said.

“ _Finally you pick up! I’ve been calling like all morning! Where are you?_ ” Law said, his voice panicked. “ _You didn’t come back last night, and Miss Robin said she didn’t know where you were. Are you okay? Should I call Smoker?_ ”

“I’m fine, Law, don’t you worry. I was just…” He paused to put his pants back on. “...doing a little, ah...special undercover stuff.”

“ _You said you were only gonna be gone a couple hours_ ,” Law said quietly. “ _I stayed up to wait for you, but then I fell asleep and you still weren’t home_.”

“I’m sorry, Law. I lost track of time,” Rocinante said. “But I’ll be home soon.” He paused, smiled, and then added, “I’m okay, Law. Really I’m fine.”

“... _Just get home soon, okay?_ ” Law said.

After Law hung up, Rocinante slipped his phone back into his pants pocket. He stilled to listen for any sign of Crocodile, but he heard nothing. He was alone. The security was more lax than Rain Dinners, as he had not seen any cameras indoors, which would allow him to sneak around without being caught.

He went to the drawers of the night stand, frowning when there was little more than a notepad, paper, reading glasses, and some cigars tucked away. He checked the dresser, only to find neatly folded and pressed clothes. The closet was also clear, as was the attached master bathroom and under the bed. Crocodile’s room was spotless, free from any shady business.

But there was still the other rooms in the house. Quietly, he shuffled out of the room and into the hallway. The house was absolutely massive; it probably cost millions to build--where had Crocodile gotten all of this money in only two and a half years? The decor was minimalist; much unlike the casino, but each and every decoration that was present probably cost a small fortune. There were antiques and more of those gaudy crocodile knick-knacks, expensive looking clocks made from glass, and gold ornaments. He peeked into a couple of the guest bedrooms. They were spotless, and Rocinante vaguely wondered if they had ever been used. There was nothing of interest to be found in them.

When Rocinante approached the stairwell, he heard the sound of footsteps against hardwood flooring and he paused in his snooping. As Rocinante descended the stairs, he saw Daz Bones waiting for him, arms crossed and a judging look on his face. Rocinante blinked in surprise. Of course Crocodile wouldn’t let him poke around his personal residence unsupervised. He was lucky that Daz hadn’t come looking for him. Daz sized him up before speaking.

“I was expecting you to be awake much earlier,” he said. “Crocodile left several hours ago. He would have seen you out, but something came up at the last moment. I will see you out in his place.”

“We haven’t officially met, have we?” Rocinante said with a friendly smile. He extended a hand. “Frijoles Rocinante. You’re Daz Bones, right?” Daz eyed him for a moment before giving Rocinante’s hand a firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“There are other things I have to attend to today, Mr. Frijoles,” Daz said. “Waiting for you took up a great deal of my time.”

“Oh, of course,” Rocinante said with a nod. “I’ll be on my way out now.”

As Rocinante went to the door to collect his shoes and coat, he felt Daz’s eyes on his back. Daz was judging him, he knew it. It was suspicious that he had spent so much time upstairs. Knowing Crocodile to be careful, Daz would probably make a sweep of the residence to check for anything missing, and then report to Crocodile. There was nothing to report, Rocinante knew, which would leave him innocent and free of any reprimands.

However, he would have to be careful around Daz in the future. If the intense, uncertain atmosphere was anything to go on, he didn’t trust Rocinante in the slightest. Which was to be expected of Crocodile’s right hand man, and the one who paid Crocodile’s bail. It was his job to be suspicious, to report back to his boss, to eliminate any threats.

Rocinante was a threat; though Crocodile might not agree now, Daz could clearly tell.

 

* * *

 

Rocinante returned home to a worried Law, and managed to convince him that everything was alright. He showered again, this time with his own soap, and got himself a change of clothes. He felt a little cleaner, a little better. Law picked up on this, and he insisted that Rocinante should relax, that they could afford to lounge around and do nothing for the day. They ate snacks for lunch and watched a documentary on polar bears; one of Law’s favorites.

“Polar bears are one of the biggest species of bear,” Law told him as said animal crossed the screen. “They can get up to nine feet long and weigh nine hundred pounds.”

“That’s pretty big,” Rocinante replied. “That will be Bepo someday, won’t it?” Law nodded. “He’s so little right now, I can hardly imagine him that big.”

“Hey, Mr. Cora?” Law said. “What do they feed Bepo at the zoo?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Fish maybe?” Rocinante suggested. “Why do you ask?”

“Cause they’re supposed to eat seals and walruses, and sometimes even whales too. They like the skin and blubber cause it’s full of calories,” Law said. “But they’re also scavengers. I heard they’ll hunt reindeers and even eat eggs and garbage if they can.” He looked at Rocinante’s face. “You’re listening, right?”

Rocinante nodded. “Of course.”

The bear in the documentary leapt into the water, and the narrator mentioned details about the seals that Law had already mentioned once before. When the bear got out again and shook itself off, Law pointed to it.

“Sometimes when they really want to, polar bears can swim for days,” he said. “This one was really lucky to find ice so fast.”

“Isn’t it cold, swimming in the water like that?” Rocinante asked. “It must be frigid in there.”

“Nope, it’s not cold at all. The bears have their fat and fur to thank for that.”

Though they enjoyed their short time together, Rocinante still went back to work in the later afternoon as always, much to Law’s dismay. Sengoku wanted a report as he always did on Sundays. There was so little to say, so little to report on, but Rocinante loyally noted every single tiny detail he found nonetheless; any passing comments, or caught conversations, possible names and aliases. It was still almost nothing to go on.

When Rocinante walked into the station later that day, he was shaking worse than usual; he’d forgotten his medication. Or, well, he had gone without it on purpose. Law reminded him, but he refused it. He hadn’t been in the mood. In only a few minutes, he bumped into several walls, fell on his face, knocked over a potted plant, and caused another officer to drop a file folder of papers into a disheveled explosion of loose leaf paper.

“Hey! Watch it, you great klutz !” the officer said, bending down to get his things.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you,” Rocinante lied.

He hurried away from the other officer’s glare and entered Sengoku’s office, feet unsteady, which earned him a worried look from his superior as he approached.

“Have you slept at all in the past twenty-four hours?” Sengoku asked.

“Yes,” Rocinante said, despite it being such an obvious lie.

He look out a small file folder of notes and handed it to Sengoku. Sengoku looked at him, surprised, before he took the folder and read through it. Page by page he read without much expression. Rocinante settled down in one of the provided chairs.

“I see you haven’t found anything out of the ordinary,” Sengoku said. “Nothing particularly new.”

“I got into his personal residence,” Rocinante said. “That’s new.”

Sengoku looked up in shock. “Crocodile allowed you into his _house_? How did you manage that?” he said disbelievingly. Rocinante eyed him with a tired look. “Nevermind. I’m sure you have the details noted. Did you find anything?”

“Nothing. Absolutely _nothing_ ,” Rocinante snapped. Sengoku’s eyebrows rose at Rocinante’s tone. “The entire house was clean. If Crocodile’s hiding something, he’s got it somewhere else, somewhere that’s not the casino _or_ his personal residence.” His annoyed look turned weary and desperate. “What am I even looking for, Sengoku? I’m not finding a damn thing.”

“Be patient, Rocinante,” Sengoku said. “You’re starting to sound like Smoker.”

“I’m beginning to understand why he’s so frustrated all of the time. This case is taking longer than I could have imagined,” Rocinante folded his arms. “Crocodile reminds me all too much of my brother--and yet, at the same time...”

“He’s his own sort of villain,” Sengoku finished for him. Rocinante nodded in response. “Crocodile is much more patient than Doflamingo . Patient, careful, and determined. Perhaps this is the reason why it has taken us so long to find out anything about him.”

They sat in a sort of meditative silence while Sengoku read through part of the report. In the quiet of the room and the comfort of Sengoku’s warm office and too-comfortable chairs, Rocinante felt himself nodding off. Every couple of minutes he would shake his head to wake himself up. Sengoku would glance up at him and then back down at his notes...until he finally stashed them away under another, less interesting folder.

“...Rocinante, you’ve been working obscenely hard for me these past few months,” he said. “I know that it must be taking its toll on you. If you need some time off, to take a break from your work--”

“Honestly, Sengoku, I’m fine.” When Sengoku merely stared at him, Rocinante sighed and thought up a believable excuse on the spot. “...Alright, alright. I’m a little tired,” he admitted. “Everything _is_ taking its toll. Undercover work was much easier when I only had to take care of myself.”

“Ah...so that’s it.” Sengoku chuckled. “Being a parent isn’t easy, not by any stretch of the imagination,” he said. “There’s a reason why I do not have any children myself. Though, then again, Garp’s family certainly gives me enough grief for them to be my own relatives…”

“Garp’s family is too much work for an _army_ ,” Rocinante replied. “It feels like every other week those children get in trouble for something or other.” He sighed. “I’m lucky that Law is so well behaved and understanding. I couldn’t imagine keeping up with a child like Ace or Luffy on top of everything else.”

“Well behaved or not, Law is still your responsibility, and that sort of responsibility can and will always become tiresome in time,” Sengoku said. “Especially with everything else that is going on.”

“I’ll be just fine,” Rocinante assured him. “I always am. It’s just a lot to get used to.”

Sengoku seemed to buy that. He dismissed Rocinante for the afternoon, telling him to go home and get some rest. He would probably forgo that. The time could be more wisely used doing something else.

 

* * *

 

On Monday, Rocinante returned to work. Things were no different, he went about business as usual, chatted with other employees and Robin as well to keep up his appearances. However, Rocinante was more exhausted than usual, with a newly discovered dislike of Crocodile wearing him down during his daily acting sessions. Crocodile had continued to insult, nag, and bother him. It took every ounce of willpower not to lash out at him, to keep smiling and chatting as if he actually liked Crocodile. Apparently the change was noticeable, as Crocodile had pestered him about looking as if he’d been awake for weeks at a time. He hadn’t, but it almost felt like it.

Caring for Pearl went by smoothly, which was somewhat expected. Crocodile didn’t have anything insulting to say for once, leaving Rocinante to work in near silence. Pearl still called for Crocodile, and Rocinante brought her over to him. But toward the end of it, Crocodile approached Rocinante out of the blue. Before Rocinante could say anything, he reached out and put Rocinante’s hat on his head. Rocinante blinked in surprise and he reached up to touch it.

“You left this behind.” Was all Crocodile said before he immediately went back to his desk.

“Oh,” Rocinante said. “That was rather careless of me.”

Crocodile didn’t have a retort. Rocinante took his things and left.

 


	13. Chapter 13

The house had a backyard that, while small, had just enough space to plant a garden. Initially, they had cultivated a small plot of land just big enough for a few tomato plants, but soon enough Law and Rocinante were ready to try other things. They experimented with squash, cucumbers, zucchini, pumpkins, lettuce, and broccoli. The zucchini, in hindsight, was a bad idea. It was a monster that made more zucchini than either of them could eat.

Law reveled in being able to cook with things from their garden, and Rocinante was proud of Law’s slowly refining skills. The amount of knowledge that Law had about simple kitchen things, what to add where and how to make it taste right, astounded him. Law brushed off his skill, claiming it was only because of the cooking channel.

Much unlike his old school, Rocinante heard little about Law getting into trouble. Law had a sharp tongue and seemed to dislike being around other children, but as always he excelled in his studies. He managed to land himself in three advanced placement classes, which was far more than Rocinante could have asked for. Law seemed to have a high bar set for himself, but Rocinante was just happy that he was doing alright. Grades didn’t really matter to him.

It dawned on Rocinante one evening just how long he’d known Law for now; it was almost three years ago that they’d met for the first time, in that little park in the woods. Three years ago, Rocinante had brought that dirty, frightened little boy into the station as a safe haven.

“I can’t believe you’re going to be thirteen,” Rocinante said to him as they watched the sun go down over the garden. “Soon enough, you’ll be a teenager.”

“Yeah,” Law said, as if he too was just as shocked. “I’m gonna be _so_ old.”

Rocinante chuckled at that.

“It’s weird to think that it was almost three years ago that we met,” Rocinante said. “It still feels like it was just yesterday.”

Law shook his head. “It feels a lot longer than that,” he said. “Like we met five years ago, or ten years ago. I feel like we’ve been living together for a long, long time!” He smiled up at Rocinante. “I don’t think I ever thanked you for back then, Mr. Cora.”

“Hm?” Rocinante blinked. “Thanked me for what?”

“For saving me,” Law said. “If you hadn’t found me, I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

He would have found someone else, that was what Rocinante wanted to say. Some other person would have found him. Or, perhaps, he would have gone to the police station all on his own. Law was smart, resourceful, he would have found a way. Perhaps it would have been Smoker that found him, or Tashigi, or even Sengoku. But what had happened happened, and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

Things had changed so much since then. His quiet, lonely little home was brought to life by Law’s raw spirit and personality. Rocinante wondered if there had ever been a time when he was this happy before.

“Then I guess I should thank you as well, Law,” he said.

“Why?” Law asked, perplexed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course you did,” Rocinante said. He reached down and squeezed Law’s shoulder. “You saved me back. It’s been a long time since I was this happy.” He leaned on the wooden railing and looked out into the yard. “I’m so glad we met.”

Law turned toward him, openly surprised to hear that come from Rocinante. Then, after a moment of thought, he reached out and hugged Rocinante around the waist. Rocinante looked down in surprise. Law didn’t say anything, but Rocinante could tell from his expression exactly what he wanted to say. He pat Law on the head.

 

* * *

 

The kitchen table was covered in pictures of children. Rocinante kept his word and decided to sit down one evening with Law to try and identify the missing kids. It had taken him a couple of weeks of slow picking, filtering, and one too many naps at his desk to gather the complete selection. It took Law only a couple of seconds to eliminate people from the list.

“Is this one Baby 5?” Rocinante asked, holding up a photo of a brown-skinned girl with dark curly hair.

Law shook his head. “I already told you, Mr. Cora,” he said. “Baby 5 had wavy hair, not curly hair. She liked to style it in a bow, too.”

“That eliminates this pile I’ve got then.”

Rocinante tapped a stack of pictures on the table to collect them together and then set them aside in a large pile of rejected faces for the mysterious Baby 5. He had dozens of pictures out. Going through them one by one was taking ungodly amounts of time, but neither of them really minded much.

“Okay, I’ve got another couple of candidates for Buffalo,” Rocinante said. He held up two pictures; a boy with short, kinky hair and another with straight hair. Law shook his head to both of them.

“Buffalo looked fatter than them,” he said. Rocinante gave him a judging look. “What? It’s true. He was really tall, too. And--oh, also he wasn’t pale either.”

Rocinante looked back at the boys in the pictures with a huff. It would have been more convenient if Law had mentioned that detail before now. That eliminated a number of children he had picked out. It could have saved on paper and prevented the earful he got from Sengoku for exhausting their supplies.

“Hey, Mr. Cora?” Law spoke up.

“Hm?” Rocinante replied, only half paying attention as he sorted names and faces.

Law rested his chin on his hands. “You’ve been acting kinda funny since that one super secret mission,” he said. “Like you’re all edgy and stuff.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rocinante said. He offered Law another pair of portraits. Law squinted and shook his head. He put the pictures on a rejected stack. “Things have been a little hectic, I’ll admit, but it doesn’t have to do with--”

“Whenever things got busy back where we used to live, you never got this weird,” Law said with a frown. “So that means that Croc guy had something to do with it.” Rocinante watched him carefully. “He didn’t figure out you were undercover, did he?”

Rocinante snorted and a wide grin spread across his face. “Of course not,” he said. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve done undercover work before.”

Law’s eyes lit up. “You have? I thought you just did parking tickets and stuff?” he asked. Rocinante shook his head, which made Law grin ear to ear and lean over the table. “Okay, you _gotta_ tell me about it.”

“It’s a secret,” Rocinante said, to which Law responded with a huff.

“Can’t you just tell me cool things without me having to give you stuff back all the time?”

“Hey now, it’s only fair,” Rocinante said. “My undercover work was top secret; Sengoku only let me tell one other person about it. Even Smoker and Tashigi don’t know about this.”

“Smoker doesn’t even know?” Law said. Then, he furrowed his eyebrows and went deep into thought. Rocinante heard him mutter, “Hmmm...it must be extra good then,” under his breath. he looked at Rocinante confidently. “Okay, I think I’ve got a good secret to give you in exchange. Tell me all about it.”

If Rocinante was honest, this wasn’t a secret he wanted to give out. It was better left unsaid, forgotten, never to be brought up again. Like a lot of Rocinante’s more personal secrets, it wasn’t a very happy memory, not for him nor anyone else involved. But Law looked at him with such interest; he was clearly expecting some sort of secret agent type of story complete with gadgets and spies and action scenes.

Oh, Rocinante thought, the real story was way less interesting than that. No evil persian cats and lasers, just one too many lies. He put down his stack of papers and leaned back in the chair.

“Ha...where should I start?” Rocinante said, scratching his head. “It happened years ago when I was still a fairly new officer. Bellemere worked with me back then.”

“ _Bellemere_ was a police officer?” Law said, mouth wide open in shock.

“Yes, she used to be. That’s how we know each other,” Rocinante explained. “But that’s beside the point. About a year after Sengoku brought me out of a...ah, problematic point in my life, I took on the training necessary to become an officer; it was only a six month process, and soon enough I was ready to work.”

“That’s...really short,” Law said. “I always thought it took longer than that.”

“It seems strange, doesn’t it?” Rocinante said. “But it is what it is. Anyway, Sengoku approached me one day and said that he chose me to go on his top secret mission. I, of course, accepted,” Rocinante continued. “It was...well, it was fairly similar to the situation with Crocodile. There was someone I needed to gather information on so we could bring him in. I spent two years undercover, secretly giving Sengoku information whenever I could.”

Of course, it was also much more dangerous and the stakes were greater than simple drug trafficking. And there was the ever-present threat of being so easily discovered that had loomed over his head. It was at least twice as stressful as Crocodile.

“Sooo did you get him?” Law asked.

Rocinante tensed for a second too long.

“...No,” he said. “He got away.” He rested his head in one hand and looked out the window. “I suppose he’s still out there somewhere, lurking in the shadows…plotting when to make his comeback...” He caught Law’s worried gaze and stopped himself. “...W-well, I mean, he’s probably doing those things elsewhere. Or maybe someone else caught him. I’m sure it’s fine.”

Law looked anything but convinced, but he nodded slowly. “You’ll get him next time,” he said. “He probably ran away because he was scared of you.”

Rocinante chuckled, though it was half-hearted. Oh, if only that had been the truth.

“Maybe,” he said. “Who really knows.” He went back to the papers on the table. When he caught Law shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he smiled. “You don’t have to tell me a secret back, Law. I changed my mind.”

But Law looked at him with a frown and shook his head. “I said I was gonna, so I’m gonna,” he said. “It’s only fair.”

“Alright,” Rocinante said.

Law seemed to take some time to find his words before he said anything. “...You remember how I told you that the weird hair guy took me to that place? With the other children?” he asked. “Well, even though we weren’t allowed to go outside on our own, there was this scrapyard where we were allowed to play in. And while we played, a guy in a mask and goggles used to watch us from this perch. I thought he was just a babysitter until one day, he brought me up the stairs to the room where he stayed. There was a guy there who gave me a knife. He said I’d need it if I wanted to learn how to defend myself.”

“They were planning on keeping you there, weren’t they,” Rocinante said, his face twisted by shock and horror.

Had Law not escaped, they might have kept him, trained him, and brainwashed him to be another one of their devoted, mindless goons. It wouldn’t be out of character for Doflamingo, he mused. Not when he firmly believed in what he did.

Law nodded. “Yeah, I think so,” he said. “I didn’t mind it so much at first. They were nice, and I always had a lot to eat. But I didn’t like not being able to leave. They said the world was full of awful people, and that if I left I wouldn’t survive. And there was this _one_ guy…”

Suddenly, Law shuddered. Rocinante perked up.

“What one guy?” he said. “Who was it? What did he look like?”

“I….” Law shook his head and looked down. “I never saw him. But I heard him talk. He and the other grown ups would talk whenever he came. Sometimes he talked about me, and Baby 5, and Buffalo.” He looked up again. “Actually…there was one other girl I remember there, too. I didn’t see her all that much since she wasn’t allowed to be around us. She was really small, maybe like….five?” Law shrugged. “And she had green hair.”

“That’s pretty iconic,” Rocinante said. “She’ll be easy to find, name or no name.”

Law shook his head. “Don’t bother. I don’t think she was kidnapped, Mr. Cora,” he said. “I’m pretty sure she’d always been a part of The Family--” Law immediately covered his mouth, shocked at himself.

“What?” Rocinante said, his eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

“N...Nothing,” he said.

No, Rocinante thought, he wouldn’t have reacted that way if it was a fluke. He dropped the stack of papers back on the tabletop. Law turned away from him, biting down on his lip as if he was guilty about something. In an instant, Rocinante’s worst fears had been confirmed. This wasn’t a coincidence. He wasn’t being paranoid. He stood up from his seat and quickly walked over to Law.

“Law,” Rocinante said slowly, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You recognised the name Joker back when it was on TV. I let it go then because I...I didn’t think much of it. But if there’s something you’re not telling me about this, then I really need to know.” He gave Law a concerned look. “Please.”

Law shook his head furiously. “I _can’t_!” he yelled, startling Rocinante. “It’s bad enough I told you about Buffalo and Baby 5.” His voice dropped to a hush. “I...I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Mr. Cora. _Please_.”

Rocinante was taken aback. Law looked at him with wide, frightened eyes; he was genuinely afraid that uttering even one more word would spell death for Rocinante. One word, and the last person who genuinely cared about him would be gone. For a moment, Rocinante went quiet, and then he nodded in understanding.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Law,” he said softly. “It’s alright.”

“No,” Law said. “No, it’s not alright. You...you don’t understand what they can do to you, to both of us...if they find out...”

“I do understand,” Rocinante said. “Maybe I understand even better than you do.”

“What are you talking about?” Law asked, perplexed.

Rocinante took in a breath, and then exhaled.

“That man I was working undercover to arrest...that man was Joker,” he said. Law’s mouth dropped open. “I spent two years with the family trying to discover their secrets and reporting back to Sengoku.” He grinned. “And after all of that, I’m still okay. They can’t do anything to me.”

Law sat there, staring at Rocinante in silent shock as if he could hardly believe anything that Rocinante was saying.

“...How did you get away from them?” he asked. “They told me that _nobody_ has ever ratted on them and lived!”

“That’s because they don’t know about me,” he said. “I was that good at my job. And that’s why I’m still safe now, too. Because they don’t know.” He put his hand on Law’s shoulder. “They can’t do anything to me here. They don’t know where I am, or where you are. They don’t know about our resources either.”

Law seemed to need a moment to think on this, as he turned away from Rocinante to frown at the table. Rocinante stayed beside him for a minute longer before he returned to his side of the table. If Law needed space, he could understand that. He knew from personal experience how difficult it could be to talk about something as traumatic as dealing with Doflamingo’s little clique.

He looked down at his dropped stack of faces, all those missing children. So it was indeed Doflamingo who had kidnapped Buffalo and Baby 5. Or had they been plucked from the street, from poverty, homelessness, misery, as he had done with some of his other trusted men? He put a hand in his hair as his face turned worried. He was teaching these kids how to fight. Children who were Law’s age, or younger, were being told they had to learn to fight, to prepare for a life of crime.

Across the table, Rocinante heard the shuffling of papers. He looked up. Law had his arms outstretched as he pulled masses of papers toward him. In a flash, he started looking through them one by one, tossing face after face to the floor in a flurry. He was going three times as fast as they had been before, and all of Rocinante’s neat little piles on the floor quickly became obscured.

“What are you…?” Rocinante began.

Minutes later, Law smacked one of the papers down on the table.

“This one,” he said. “This one is Buffalo.”

He passed it over to Rocinante who hesitantly picked it up. It featured a chubby-faced boy with a unique haircut and a beanie hat. He studied the picture before looking at Law. “You’re sure?” he said. “This is him?”

Law nodded with a serious look. “Mhm. I’m positive,” he said. “He looks a little older now and he’s way taller, but that’s definitely him.”

“Thank you, Law,” Rocinante said. “This will help a lot.”

With a face on one of the known members, it would be much easier to spot any of Doflamingo’s goons sneaking about. Though he couldn’t help but wonder whether or not Buffalo was able to leave at all; given what Law said, the younger members seemed to be hidden away. Probably for their safe keeping, Rocinante thought. Doflamingo might have been ruthless, but he seemed to know better than to put children straight into danger.

Sengoku was going to be pleased to hear that there was in fact a connection between Law’s disappearance and Doflamingo, but it would also put pressure on him; if Law knew anything else--and it didn’t seem like he did--Sengoku would want to grill him for it.

“I’ll bet you wanna know how I got away from Joker, huh,” Law said, once again smirking deviously.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious,” Rocinante replied. “You were only armed with that little knife after all.”

“During those two years, they trained me,” Law said. “They showed me how to fight, how to defend myself, and whenever I wanted something to read, they’d give it to me.” He looked at Rocinante. “They used to get me medical textbooks--the really expensive kind. Said since I was one of them, nothing was too great for me.”

Law rested his arms on the table. “But they were stupid,” he continued. “Like, really, _really_ stupid. I stayed there just cause I couldn’t get away. And what they didn’t know was that I was secretly figuring out where everyone was at any one time. I found out that there was this short span of time when nobody was watching the exit.”

“And you escaped when nobody was looking,” Rocinante said with a small smile.

“Well, almost. Turns out it wasn’t completely unguarded…” Law trailed off, looking a little embarrassed. “Remember that weird hair guy? He saw me sneak out and he ran after me. I dunno how long I ran from him, but it was a while. Weeks maybe.” He shrugged. “He was really persistent. But I was small, and smarter, _and_ faster than him.”

“I’m assuming you were in that park by accident, then?” Rocinante asked. “If you didn’t know where you were, I doubt you knew where you were going either.”

“Yeah. I was really, really lost. I probably could’ve ended up anywhere. But I’m glad I ended up there,” Law said, smiling. He pat some of the papers on the table. “Why don’t we find Baby 5, Mr. Cora? Then we can talk about more stuff.”

Rocinante simply nodded, and he picked up one of the paper stacks again.


	14. Smoker is Tired of Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy April Fool's Day!
> 
> None of this is canon at all, but I'll leave this chapter in here anyhow. I think it's a lot of fun.

Corazon was way too slow. Months and months of undercover work, and for what? A handful of scraps and more than his fair share of crocodile care stories. Smoker hated it. He knew that he could finish this case quicker than anyone else if only he could get in on the action.

“Wanda, what should I do?” Smoker said, stroking his dog’s fur.

“Ba. Ha ba da ba,” Wanda replied. “Ha ba ba da ga da.”

“You’re right, I’m not thinking outside of the box,” he muttered, scratching under her chin. “I need to get more creative with this case. But how...”

He went silent. Wanda tilted her head back and forth, ears perked, as if she too was pondering exactly what would be the best way to solve her master’s problem.

“Ha da ba da ga da bah?” Wanda suggested, looking up at Smoker.

Smoker eyes widened. “Perfect! Great idea, Wanda!” He got up from the couch, startling his little dog. “Now I just need the internet, a little time, and let’s see if I can’t get in contact with Cora later today...or no, maybe I shouldn’t. If he’s not even aware of it…then nobody will be able to figure it out.”

 

* * *

 

Finding a crocodile suit and getting the highest bid was the easy part, as was waiting for it and putting it on. It was a snug fit, and the hyper-realism of the costume really gave off the air of a true wild crocodile. However, as Smoker soon discovered, the zipper was faulty and broke the second he got it on properly. But that was no big deal. He’d just flex his way out of it later.

He drove his way to Rain Dinners and found a decent parking spot. Sneaking around the back was irritating, and he earned quite a few curious looks from bystanders as he tried to scale the fence multiple times. He discovered the unlocked gate afterwards and decided to just try that instead. Surprisingly, none of the keepers noticed him slip right in with the other crocodiles, who were too lazy to care much about this new person in their exhibit.

Plenty of people, keepers and visitors alike, passed him off as just another crocodile. Smoker saw Corazon pass by a couple times, even, without giving him so much as a second glance. Oh, he’d use that against him later for sure.

But soon his costume skills came to the test as Crocodile himself came into the menagerie to see his crocodiles face-to-face. Smoker had to hand it to him, he had guts for coming into the pen like that.

“...What the hell?” Crocodile said. 

“Sir?” A passing keeper spoke up.

Crocodile gestured with his hook to Smoker, who went completely still. “This crocodile...I don’t recognize it,” he said.

Smoker made a face inside the suit. All the damn reptiles looked exactly the same, how the hell did he know one from the other?! Crocodile approached slowly, and knelt down to look at him, squinting. Smoker looked back at him through the fake eyes of the crocodile suit. Then, Crocodile grunted and shook his head.

“Tell Bon Clay that if he makes another purchase without my explicit permission, it’ll be his job,” he said to the random keeper, who nodded and hurried away. Crocodile gave Smoker one last look before walking off. “Luckily for him, the specimen he chose is suited to my taste.”

Once Crocodile was out of range, Smoker scurried off toward the door to the exhibit. After making sure nobody was watching, he snuck inside. A few keepers were lurking around, but they quickly left, too preoccupied with their own business. Corazon came into the room, hefting a number of boxes. Smoker approached him from behind.

“Psst. Hey. Cora,” Smoker called.

Corazon looked around, confused, until Smoker opened the mouth of the suit and revealed his face. Corazon yelped and dropped the several boxes he was carrying onto the floor. They tipped over and spilled dozens of papers onto the floor.

“Smo... _ Smoker _ ?” he said, shocked. “What are you doing here? And that...why are you...that costume…?”

Smoker shrugged. “You find all kinds of weird shit on Ebay,” he said simply. “Thought I’d check in with you and see what’s up. Find anything useful?”

Corazon wasn’t paying attention to him, now distracted with picking up and replacing the thousands of Rain Dinners special occasion brochures that had fallen onto the floor. Smoker sighed, and then leaned over to help him put the goods back into the boxes. It was surprisingly easy to do with the crocodile suit’s large, clumsy fingers.

“Has anyone noticed you walking around like that?” Corazon questioned.

“The crusty-ass lizard himself didn’t even notice it was a costume. I think I’m fine,” Smoker replied. “Man, how the hell do you work in this godforsaken building? It smells like the dumpster behind a pet store in here.”

“That might be the rats,” Corazon replied. “There’s a few freezers full of them in the back.” He huffed, and tapped the papers in his hand into a neat pile before tucking them away. “Seriously, someone’s going to find you if you sneak around like that. You’re endangering the mission.”

“I’ve been in that croc hole all morning and nobody has given one single fuck. Not even the crocodiles,” Smoker said, crossing his arms.

“Can’t you wear something a little less…” Corazon waved his hand. “Conspicuous?”

“What, y’think I should try a plant on for size instead?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Does Croc have a plant in his office?” Smoker said. “Cause I could make that work. You distract him, I look around. Sound like a plan?”

Corazon just gave him a tired look, but said nothing.

 

* * *

 

There was Smoker, seated patiently in a hyper-realistic plant costume in place of Crocodile’s tall and bushy potted plant. It was cramped and uncomfortable, but he’d have plenty of time to complain about it later.

Miss Goldenweek sat on Crocodile’s desk, painting him another watercolor picture of the interior of Rain Dinners for his wall; a lovely picture of Doflamingo being eaten by the crocodiles in the menagerie while Crocodile stood above him and laughed. Crocodile watched her with intrigue, completely unaware of both Corazon and Smoker the plant.

Corazon went about his presumably usual duties, messing around with some small white crocodile on the opposite side of the room. Smoker just sat and glared at Crocodile’s back. It would be all too satisfying to punch him right there and then. Right in the nose. Then he’d rummage through the drawers and hack the computer. But that probably wasn’t legal for at least a dozen reasons. But oh, oh it would feel so satisfying.

The leaves on his head rustled. Crocodile looked up from Miss Goldenweek’s artwork. “Whoever is touching my plant is going to lose a hand if I find it’s been damaged,” he said, turning slowly to look at the Smoker plant.

He stared at Smoker. Smoker stared back. 

Then, with a shrug, Crocodile turned back around to continue enjoying the painting in the works.

“...Wait a fucking minute,” Crocodile muttered, doing a double-take at the Smoker plant. “You! What the hell are you doing here? Where is my aralia plant?”

“Y’just noticed me now? I’ve been here for over an hour!” Smoker said, standing up. “I know you’re getting up to something, and I’m here to put a stop to it! You’re under arrest, Crocodile! You and all your underlings!”

Crocodile looked at Corazon, who seemed just as shocked, and then back at Smoker, whose plant costume just barely covered his torso when he stood up. He threw his hands up in the air with an exasperated sigh.

“I’m done. I’m leaving,” Crocodile said, getting up from his desk. “I’ve had it up to fucking here with all of this stupidity. I just wanted to topple the Alabastan government. Goodbye.”

As Crocodile left, Miss Goldenweek in tow, the bathroom door suddenly opened and Doflamingo’s hiding place for the last thirteen chapters was suddenly revealed. He desperately tried to put his pants back on as he hobbled after Crocodile.

“Wait Croc!” Doffy yelled, running after him with a piece of toilet paper stuck to his shoe. “Don’t leave! I didn’t even get to show up in this story yet! C’mon!”


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, enough funny business. Here's the _real_ chapter 14. I hope you guys enjoyed the April Fool's Day chapter!
> 
> As always, thanks much for reading, reviewing, and all the rest!

Mayor Cobra was running for reelection. Crocodile caught wind of this before anyone else and decided to show his support; Rain Dinners was going to host a party in the mayor’s honor. The mayor would show up, give a speech and answer questions, and then the after party would begin to help raise interest, and donated funds, for his campaign. Crocodile chose to fund the entire thing himself.

Now Rocinante wasn’t particularly interested in going. Though he could be social when he wanted to, larger parties tended to bother him and this one would probably be exceptionally intolerable. Knowing Rain Dinners in and out, he knew there would be loud music, way too many people, and of course, Crocodile himself. He wanted nothing more than to stay home and spend time with Law. But, as it always was, work came first. Law was going to spend the night with Bellemere, Nami, and Nojiko for an in-house Disney movie marathon.

Thankfully, the crocodile keepers weren’t required to do anything work related; the heavy burden of working the floor was placed on the kitchen staff instead. Rocinante felt out of place all dressed up, however, as it had been an awfully long time since he last wore his nice suit. It didn’t fit properly anymore, stretching tightly or sagging loosely in just the right way to make moving uncomfortable. He ended up tugging on it every few minutes and squirming awkwardly in his chair while Cobra gave his speech. Being in such tight clothes felt claustrophobic.

The business end of the night faded into the question and answer segment, which soon gave way to the party element. Crocodile had hired some live music to perform, and the guests quickly began to mingle about. Rocinante found a comfortable corner near the open bar to hide himself. It was still noisy and crowded, but it felt a little better.

Maybe...if he snuck away while everyone was distracted…

“Now what are you doing here all alone in the corner here, hmm?”

Rocinante flinched as Bon Clay approached him, looking quizzical. Rocinante smiled awkwardly at him. “Ah, well,” Rocinante said. “I’m not really into parties all that much.”

“Don’t joke aroooound! You came out here, you might as well have a little fun, riiight?” Bon Clay said with a grin. Rocinante shrugged. “Why don’t you go out and mingle a little? It can’t be all that fun sitting here in the corner.”

“Well, I…”

Before he could formulate a good excuse, Bon Clay grabbed his shoulder and led him away from the corner, giving him a confident shove toward the crowd. He looked back at Bon Clay nervously, but Bon simply gave him a thumbs up. With a sigh, he walked onward.

The majority of the people here were probably from Alabasta, and for that reason he didn’t recognize any of them. The few coworkers he caught wandering around, laughing and joking--and drinking and stuffing their faces at the free buffet--didn’t mean much to him in the way of conversation. He ignored them. Occasionally, he bumped into someone, or stumbled, or got a nasty look from the owner of a foot he stepped on. He was too clumsy for his own damn good.

Eventually he found an empty table to sit down at--or, at least, it was empty now; someone had left a small stack of plates on it, and there were wine stains on the white tablecloth. The people around him were talking and laughing to themselves. He ended up leaning on the table as he looked around the room. Cobra, along with his daughter, was seated toward the back of the room with Crocodile. Rocinante couldn’t hear what they were saying, but judging by the way the mayor was smiling, the way Crocodile was smiling, and how bored Cobra’s young daughter seemed, they were having a good time. There was also a decent collection of empty wine glasses at their table...

He shifted his gaze away to look out at the dance floor, which was filled to capacity with people. Rocinante would be lying if he said that he wasn’t envious of them. But he told himself, and he knew deep down, that he would only embarrass himself by going out there. So many opportunities to hurt himself, to bump into other people some more, it wasn’t worth it to even try. It really wasn’t.

He twirled a bit of hair between his fingers while staring at the white linen tablecloth covering the table he was seated at. It was hard not to throw the occasional glance at the shuffling feet. Everyone was so coordinated. Balanced. Careful. Precise. Even with the physical therapy, the medication, all the help, Rocinante’s usual gait was still a glorified drunken stumble and he was lucky if the carpet didn’t catch his toes whenever he entered a room.

Spilled drinks, tipped plates, angry, yelling voices, inevitable injury. Something would surely go terribly wrong. No, he didn’t want that. He was going to sit quietly and not participate. His eyes wandered back to the floor, again.

“Well?”

A hand touched his shoulder. Rocinante turned to his right; Robin was hovering over him, a drink in her hand. How long had she been there, watching him? She was too quiet for her own good.

“No one is stopping you from going out there,” Robin said with her ever-confident smile.

Rocinante looked at her for a long moment. “It’s better that I don’t. I’ll only make a fool of myself,” he said.

“Fufufu…Perhaps what you need is a steady guide, then.” The comment took Rocinante by surprise. She offered a hand to him. “May I have this dance, Mr. _Beans_?” she said, managing to suppress a peal of laughter.

Rocinante took her hand. “Of course, Ms. Sunday.”

Robin lead him out onto the cramped dance floor with ease. They made their way slowly through the crowd, eventually finding a spot toward the back where there was a decent amount of space for them to work with. Then, she put one hand on his shoulder and another on his hip. Rocinante looked at it.

“You’ve danced before, haven’t you?” she asked him.

“Yes, ah, but it’s...it’s been a while,” Rocinante admitted. “To be honest, I don’t really remember when the last time was.”

“Oh? Then follow along after me.”

She placed her hands on Rocinante and carefully guided him along to the beat of the music. It took him a moment, but soon he found his feet. Robin was fairly tall on her own, but the heels she was wearing raised her up enough that it made the height difference between her and Rocinante seem a little less extreme. They weren’t at eye level, but Rocinante didn’t have to strain his neck.

“Ack!” Rocinante yelped as he took a wrong step and nearly stumbled over. Robin’s grip on his side prevented him from doing so, however. She looked at him curiously. “I’m...I’m alright,” he said. “Just a little unsteady…”

Which turned out to be an understatement; as they continued to move around the floor, Rocinante managed to stumble over his own feet, step on several people including Robin, and nearly pull both of them to the ground. But Robin’s grip was strong enough that they didn’t, and it surprised him. She didn’t seem bothered by his inherent clumsiness.

“Fufufu…” Robin chuckled with a smile she was only barely hiding. “Your style of dance certainly is...unique.”

“I told you,” Rocinante said, smiling right on back. “I have no idea what I’m doing.” He averted his gaze. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve danced with someone who had two left feet.”

The night went on, the music changed, and Rocinante continued to glance toward the doors leading out of the room. Bon Clay had since gone off somewhere, nobody else seemed to be watching him. It would be a good time to slip away if he could excuse himself from Robin. But that would be...rude, wouldn’t it? She seemed to be enjoying herself. He didn’t want to spoil that.

“You don’t want to be here, do you?” Robin spoke up, though her voice was quiet.

Rocinante shook his head. “Don’t take it personally. I was thinking of leaving before you found me,” he said. “If I can sneak away while everyone’s distracted…I might--”

“Unfortunately, not everyone is distracted,” Robin said. “You would have been discovered and caught almost immediately. And now...it would be much worse if you left now.”

“What are you talking about?” Rocinante asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?”

Rocinante froze and turned. Crocodile was glaring at them, though he couldn’t tell exactly who it was that he’d addressed. Robin smirked, seeming unconcerned about her boss’ temper.

“Hello Crocodile,” Robin said. “Is something the matter?”

Crocodile said nothing, but he was still glaring at them. He looked down, at Robin’s hand on Rocinante’s hip as if this gesture bothered him. He swayed a little as he stood, seeming a bit off balance and out of it. Rocinante just gave him a weird look and tried to laugh awkwardly.

“I think he’s had one too many drinks tonight,” he said, eyeing the empty glasses that were neatly clustered together at the table where Crocodile had been sitting. “It might be a good idea to get him home before something else happens.” A few other workers chuckled to themselves as they took notice of the drunken host. “There’s a couch in his office, I can take him up there.”

Rocinante broke away from Robin and approached Crocodile, who seemed only slightly less aggressive now. He put a hand on Crocodile’s shoulder and guided him away from the dance floor gently. Surprisingly, Crocodile didn’t have any complaints.

“Careful,” Robin said as they left. “He’s even more nasty when he’s drunk.” She chuckled to herself. “Fufufu...It’s also important to note how crocodiles, though solitary in nature, aren’t opposed to the idea of returning to old mates…”

“Shut up,” Crocodile snapped. “Mind your own damn business, Sunday.”

While Rocinante was curious as to what Robin meant by that, he focused instead on taking Crocodile out of the room. Before they reached the door, Crocodile became unsteady on his feet and he ended up grabbing Rocinante’s shoulder for support. Rocinante had to do his damnedest not to stumble and fall.

With Crocodile’s heavy body leaning into him, Rocinante had to walk slower to keep steady on his feet. Crocodile didn’t seem to care, as he said nothing while they walked. They made their way down the hall, passed a few snickering employees, and made it to the elevator. Luckily for them, there was an elevator close to Crocodile’s office, which made the trip that much easier.

Upon reaching the door, Crocodile fumbled with the office key, hands shaking and eyes squinting to see the tiny keyhole. Rocinante ended up opening it for him.

“I could have done it myself,” Crocodile grumbled.

Rocinante took him over to the couch and set him down. Crocodile leaned up against the back and sighed, putting a hand to his forehead.

“Is there anything you need?” Rocinante asked. “Water?” Crocodile shot him an annoyed look and Rocinante put up his hands. “Just thought I’d ask. You did have a lot to drink. If you’d like to lay down...”

“I’m not sleeping on this couch,” Crocodile said. “And fuck off with the nice guy routine. It’s irritating.” Rocinante shot him a look of surprise, as if the statement wasn’t at all true and he was indeed being genuine. Crocodile didn’t seem to care one way or the other. “Make yourself useful and call my chauffeur.”

Rocinante nodded slowly and went to Crocodile’s desk. He found the cordless phone, paused for a moment when he realized that he didn’t have the number, but soon discovered Crocodile’s little address and phone number book sitting out on the desk. Popping it open, he found a seemingly endless supply of numbers written down in Crocodile’s fancy scrawl. The majority of names and numbers matched casino related contacts, businesses in the area, and also Mayor Cobra’s...personal number. Rocinante paged through; Daz’s number, Robin’s work phone, several other Rain Dinners employees, and also his own number, which was circled and starred with an asterisk.

On the third page was his current driver, listed under two other crossed out names as simply “Mr. 3”. But before he dialed, he turned the page. There were three more pages of numbers. Some had no name, instead just a number and a codeword which was a bit shady. He glanced at Crocodile, who wasn’t paying any attention to him. He carefully took a piece of paper from Crocodile’s little notepad, scribbled down seven phone numbers while he quickly dialed the chauffeur's number to cover himself.

The driver was surprised to hear someone other than Crocodile using the number, but listened to Rocinante as he gave him the necessary details. The call was fairly prompt and to the point, moments later Rocinante hung up. But when he looked back over at Crocodile, Rocinante saw him lying over the couch, head on a little throw pillow, eyes closed. Rocinante huffed and smiled; so much for not sleeping on the couch. He approached Crocodile slowly and gently tapped his shoulder.

“I called your chauffeur,” Rocinante said. Crocodile opened an eye. “He should be here with your ride home in around half an hour.”

“Not soon enough,” Crocodile said roughly. “Why didn’t you tell him to get here immediately?” Rocinante flinched. “Can’t do a damn thing right…”

“Do you want me to leave?” Rocinante inquired.

Crocodile’s forehead creased as he furrowed his eyebrows, as if the decision was actually difficult. Rocinante’s only response was silence, which he decided was probably confirmation. It probably wasn’t the best idea to leave Crocodile alone while he was that drunk, but told himself that he didn't actually care much, if at all. He headed for the door.

“...Wait.”

His hand hovered over the doorknob. He looked back at Crocodile, who had a strange look on his face. Rocinante let his hand drop to his side.

“Yes?”

“Stay,” Crocodile said, gesturing for him to sit down on the floor near to him.

He did so, albeit awkwardly as he was still shocked that Crocodile had openly invited him to stay. The room was quiet enough to hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. Rocinante would occasionally glance at Crocodile, who seemed to be studying him once again. Then, Rocinante flinched. Crocodile’s hand was in his hair, stroking it

“Your hair is soft,” Crocodile said as if it was the first time he’d noticed.

Rocinante laughed. “You’re drunk,” he said.

Though it was a bit uncomfortable, Rocinante decided to forgo telling him off about it. Discussions about personal space were probably lost on him anyway. The petting continued for a couple more minutes until it finally ceased. After another minutes of waiting to be sure, Rocinante turned. Crocodile had passed out and was now sleeping soundly. Rocinante breathed a sigh of relief and got up from where he was sitting, rubbed his back, and started for the door.

But before he opened the door, he paused to look back at Crocodile. The usually grumpy, sarcastic, unfriendly man seemed so peaceful when he was asleep, so harmless. Something within Rocinante stirred a little and directed him to Crocodile’s coat rack. The usual tacky green fur coat was hanging there. He took it off of the hook. Gently, he draped it over Crocodile’s sleeping figure. Crocodile didn’t react.

The entire walk back to the party, Rocinante’s thoughts were conflicted and uncertain. Absentmindedly, he felt the paper in his pocket. Sengoku would surely want this information as soon as possible. He couldn’t bother himself with other thoughts.


	16. Chapter 15

Rocinante’s first priority was to give Sengoku the found numbers in person. He arrived early in the morning to discuss his findings along with his usual weekly report. Sengoku took the numbers and replied that he would have Smoker and Tashigi on the job soon enough. Rocinante was just pleased to have finally found a lead. And with that out of the way, his body felt heavy and tired, the past week’s events dragging him down. He needed coffee. His feet led him to the lounge.

Inside the tiny lounge, settled on the couch, was a familiar officer. Rocinante stopped in the doorway. The man in sunglasses looked toward him, frowned, and squinted. It took Rocinante a moment before he realized the officer in question had been the one he’d seen wandering the park. Apparently, Sengoku still needed him around.

“So we meet again,” Rocinante said.

“Have we...met before?” the officer asked.

“Once, in passing,” Rocinante said with a small smile. He headed toward the tiny, dirty coffee machine on the counter and helped himself. Thankfully, it was still hot. “You’re from out of town, right? Sengoku has you here because of the Joker case?”

The other officer nodded. “I’m usually stationed in Punk Hazard,” he said. “But Sengoku needed my expertise.”

“ _Punk Hazard?_  That’s awfully far from here,” Rocinante said, picking up his mug. “Are you staying around here somewhere?”

“For the time being, yes,” he said. “But I go home to visit a couple times a week.”

“Oh? Do you have a family?”

“Ah…” The other officer seemed a bit embarrassed, but he smiled warmly. “Well, we’re not exactly a traditional family, but you could say that. It’s difficult, being away from them like this, especially since my boyfriend seems so lost when I’m not around. This whole Joker case...It’s got the both of us so worried.”

“How _is_ the Joker case going, by the way?” Rocinante asked. “Any new leads? I’ve been out of the loop for a while now.”

“At the moment, that’s between me and Sengoku,” he said, still smiling a reassuring smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure I’ll get to hear about it in time,” Rocinante said.

He sat down in one of the chairs by the table. The other officer seemed to be looking him over, sizing him up. Rocinante wasn’t surprised; he got plenty of weird looks all the time for various reasons. And this person didn’t seem very intimidating, despite his outward appearance. He had a friendly aura about him.

“You’re an officer as well, correct?” the other man said. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before.”

“I’m not surprised, I only stop by once a week now,” Rocinante said. “I’m working a case out of town and it keeps me so busy that I rarely have time to check on anything else.”

Smoker barged into the room carrying a large, empty mug that he usually used for coffee. As if on autopilot, he was too distracted by the coffee machine to notice anyone else in the room. But when he did, he paused when he saw Rocinante, eyebrows raising.

“Cora?” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be...?”

“There was something important that I had to deliver to Sengoku,” Rocinante said. “Top priority important.” Smoker nodded in understanding. “Thought I’d stop in and get some coffee before I head off. I was just getting acquainted with, ah…?” He looked toward the other officer.

“Vergo,” the man in sunglasses said.

“Good, you’ve met.” Smoker nodded to Vergo. “Even though he’s just here because of Joker, Vergo’s been a huge help. Whenever we need him he always lends a hand. S’good, especially since we’re technically down one officer.”

Rocinante made a face. “What, are you kidding? You guys have him saddled with all my usual stuff on top of all this?” he asked. “That’s not fair. Dealing with Joker is hard enough without adding Moria and the others into the mix.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Vergo said, seeming genuinely happy to be of service. “I’m more than happy to help.”

Rocinante paused to sip on his coffee. “Well,” he began, “I’d love to stay and chat for a while longer, but I’ve got to get back to business.”

“Same time next week?” Smoker asked.

“Or earlier,” Rocinante replied. Smoker raised an eyebrow. “Sengoku will fill you in on the details later.”

Suddenly, for the first time in a while, Smoker grinned, and Rocinante knew that it was probably the best news he’d heard all week. Vergo eyed them with a thoughtful frown, but he seemed to understand that, just as Rocinante wasn’t allowed to know about Joker, this incident was outside of his jurisdiction. He got up from his spot on the couch, nodded to them both, and excused himself from the room. Once they were alone, Smoker replied.

“It’s about time something turned up,” he said. “Feels like we’ve been going around in circles for ages now. What’d you find?”

“Nothing too big,” Rocinante said. “I mentioned before that Crocodile keeps a pocket book of phone numbers on his desk, right? Well, he got a little too careless and I managed to jot a few of the more questionable ones down.” He smirked. “I don’t even think he knows I did it.”

“That’s a start,” Smoker said. “Not much, but at least it’s something. Y’think we would have found something at that asshole’s house--I _still_ can’t believe you got in there, by the way.”

“He probably suspects that we’re onto him,” Rocinante replied. “If we could get a warrant, it would be the first place we’d look after Rain Dinners, right?” Smoker let out an annoyed grunt and went to refill his coffee. “Maybe he keeps all his shadier business locked away in some warehouse.”

“Still. This is ridiculous,” Smoker said. “It’s almost like he _knows_ you’re digging through his shit.”

At that moment Rocinante remembered something Robin had said to him; Crocodile was careful, not paranoid. He knew for a fact that Crocodile was unaware of his treachery, so he probably wasn’t prepared for Rocinante to go searching through his personal things. If Smoker had been the one sneaking around, however...

“I don’t think so,” Rocinante said. “We have to continue to be patient, I suppose.”

Smoker huffed and shook his head.

“Let’s just hope you found something good in that batch of numbers.”

 

* * *

 

Being around a bunch of animals for a long period of time gave one an intimate knowledge of their little hard to notice behaviors and mannerisms. Rocinante might not have admitted it, but there was something endearing about watching the large crocodiles perk up around feeding time. They seemed to know exactly where and when they’d be fed, and they would pile into a corner of their enclosure. Then they’d stare up like large, excited dogs as a keeper approached.

Rocinante brought a large white bucket of defrosted slabs of rabbit meat up to the fence. The crocodiles bobbed their heads a bit and raked their claws on the side.

As he evenly divided up the meat--three pieces per animal--he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was standing near the railing on the other side of the enclosure. A couple crocodiles left their post by Rocinante to approach this newcomer. When he looked up, he saw it was Crocodile, who was tossing bits of food to the animals with an almost pleasant look on his face.

Rocinante simply stared. He’d heard a rumor from other keepers that Crocodile occasionally came out and fed the animals when no one was around, but this was the first time he’d caught him in the act. Maybe he hadn’t noticed there was someone else around too? There were a few palm trees obscuring him from view after all. He stood still to keep from being spotted behind the brush. Crocodile was calling each animal by name, and Rocinante was amazed that each one came to him slowly as if they knew. Rocinante and his rabbit was forgotten in favor of their master’s offerings. 

He was grinning down at them, saying things to them that Rocinante couldn’t quite hear. But the crocodiles clearly loved it, and as they got excited, Crocodile laughed. As one particularly large crocodile, that Rocinante recognized as Manzano, tried scaling the wall, Crocodile reached into his bag and pulled out a fried chicken leg. He dropped the chicken leg into the pit, where it was seized by the crocodile. He easily crunched through the bone and swallowed it whole.

It was...honestly, really endearing. He’d only seen this side of Crocodile in little spurts while in his office, and only then when with Pearl. He ended up leaning on the rail to watch as Crocodile talked to each animal before he fed them. He found himself smiling in return.

It was probably bad for them to eat what he was giving them. But Rocinante couldn’t find it in him to care all too much.

After a few more minutes of watching Crocodile gently toss meat to the animals, he picked up his bucket and made his way over.

“Is this your way of saying that you don’t think they’re getting enough food?” Rocinante asked.

Crocodile jerked his head back up to face him, looking alarmed. Rocinante offered him a polite smile in return. Crocodile said nothing, seeming a bit embarrassed, and turned away to glance down at the crocodiles once more.

“Fried foods aren’t very good for them,” Rocinante said. “It could give them indigestion.”

“A small snack here and there isn’t an issue,” Crocodile insisted.

Rocinante picked up the tongs out of the bucket and served out the meat. To his surprise, Crocodile stayed behind to watch, his head resting in his hand. The gaze was less judgemental for once; more like he was simply interested in watching Rocinante work. He picked up where he left off, feeding a crocodile named Cavendish a final leg of rabbit.

One of the crocodiles made an odd gurgling sound as it chowed down on the food. Crocodile glanced down at it. The gurgling continued. He looked away. Rocinante thought he was planning to leave then...but he simply stood there, and Rocinante realized that Crocodile was holding in his laughter.

“Chiquita makes that sound a lot,” Rocinante said, catching Crocodile’s eye again.

There was final gurgle as the meat was swallowed that sent Crocodile into a quiet chain of laughter that Rocinante just barely heard over the little waterfall in the corner. Crocodile watched as one of the smaller crocs was lightly tossed around in the pile, tripped, and fell back with a splash into the water behind them. It scrambled back momentarily, eager for more. Crocodile was making that face again, that genuinely happy smile.

Rocinante smirked a little and gently nudged Crocodile. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile like that,” he said.

“Like what?” Crocodile said.

“In a friendly kind of way,” Rocinante replied. “Usually you…ah.” Usually it seemed more sinister, like a man who was getting excited about robbing a bank. He decided it was better not to mention that. “Well, anyway, it’s nice.”

Crocodile huffed. “I’m  _ not _ nice,” he said.

“Ahahaha, of course,” Rocinante said, laughing. “You have to keep up that intimidating boss image, right?”

Which, honestly, was something Crocodile did do very well. Most, if not all, of his employees knew never to cross their boss. If he intended to rule with an iron fist, he was pulling it off very well. 

Perhaps some months ago, back when it all started, Rocinante had been the same. Crocodile had been up on that pedestal. But things felt...different now. He was just another man with a grudge against humanity. But he was still just that; a man. It was almost funny now that Smoker was so determined to paint him as an indisputably evil presence. 

It was hard to picture him that way after he’d seen him so genuinely pleased to be around his pets.

“Don’t let everyone else catch you pampering them, or you’ll lose that image,” Rocinante said. “You’re nice to them and that does count for something.”

Crocodile gave him a stern look. “If you  _ dare _ speak a word to _ anyone _ \--”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Rocinante said. Then, he grinned. “It’ll just stay between me and you.”

Crocodile didn’t say anything at first. He stared back out at the menagerie with a thoughtful expression as the crocodiles slowly returned to the water. Rocinante leaned up against the rail with him, taking a moment to enjoy the quiet atmosphere. Some music filtered out from the interior of Rain Dinners. A light breeze shook the palm trees.

“Me and you,” he muttered. “Seems that’s been happening a lot lately. Us being together.”

He hadn’t liked it much. In the beginning, dealing with Crocodile seemed more of a chore than anything. All the things Smoker had said, all the possibilities for nasty things Crocodile might do had been floating in the back of his head. All of the stress he’d felt--he’d blamed it on Crocodile, hadn’t he? 

And he couldn’t help but wondered when it changed. 

“It wasn’t supposed to happen this way,” Crocodile replied honestly, catching Rocinante off guard. “I don’t know what to think about it.”

“Mm,” Rocinante hummed in agreement. He let out a soft sigh. “I don’t think it’s bad. All of this.”

When Crocodile was about to respond, the doors to Rain Dinners opened. Several employees from the custodial crew appeared, continuing some conversation they’d started inside. Crocodile immediately backed off from the rail and resumed his serious exterior.

“....I suppose it’s nice,” he muttered before he quickly left.

 

* * *

 

 

There was something different about that afternoon. Crocodile was as grumpy and nonchalant as ever, but as Rocinante entered the room he couldn’t help but notice the atmosphere...seemed off. It wasn’t as charged as usual, if he didn’t know better he would have said it was casual. Normal. Crocodile himself seemed almost...tolerable, dare he say. Not that he’d ever admit that.

He set a clipboard of miscellaneous papers for Crocodile to sign on the desk. Nothing too interesting, mostly official desk work. Crocodile didn’t seem to pay too much attention to the details, simply signing it before setting his pen down and handing it back to Rocinante, who tucked the pen away in his pocket without a second thought.

He then wheeled out the cart from the closet and organized the stock of cleaning supplies. As he did so, he glanced at his watch discreetly; 3:00 PM on the dot.  Crocodile rarely if ever stayed this late. Had something been canceled? Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the man in question. Crocodile seemed distracted, but noticed Rocinante’s gaze almost immediately, causing Rocinante to look away.

As time passed, Pearl grew. No longer was she a tiny hatchling that could fit in the palm of Rocinante’s hand. She was much longer and thicker now, and her toothy jaws were becoming more of a threat. Luckily, Pearl was “tame” enough and used to her usual routine that she didn’t immediately lash out at Rocinante. To be safe, however, Rocinante began using thick gloves to handle her. Soon enough she was going to need a larger tank.

“Alright, Pearl,” he mumbled to himself as he reached into the tank containing Crocodile’s pampered pet. He lifted her carefully with both hands, surprised that she wasn’t resisting too much. “Huh. Nice to see you cooperating.”

The tiny crocodile sat in his hand calmly, uninterested in biting him. She sat still as he stroked her from head to tail. Along with the usual cleaning and feeding, Pearl was due for a visit with the vet for a general checkup. Rocinante didn’t want to keep the vet waiting. As he moved to put Pearl away, Crocodile cleared his throat. Rocinante turned to look.

“Oh, do you want her?”

“Set her on the desk,” Crocodile replied, pointing down at a cleared corner of said desk. “She’s been cooped up all day.”

Rocinante nodded and brought the tiny crocodile to her master’s desk. Pearl walked out of his hands and onto the polished wood, her claws clicking against it. Crocodile reached out to her, and she let out a squeak which surprised her master as much as he surprised her. Rocinante went about the usual routine, now mastered as an art, without giving the other two occupants in the room much thought.

Pearl chirped. She chirped again and again. Rocinante recognized the noise as the call she made for Crocodile. It had been a while since she’d made that particular sound.

“What’s the matter?” He heard Crocodile say. Pearl chirped again. “I’m right here…”

The pool water was changed, the tank’s glass cleared of smudges, and everything was quickly replaced back inside the box. Rocinante took a moment to appreciate his own handiwork. Crocodile could probably find something to complain about if he dug for one, but all in all it was a job well done. He placed the supplies back onto the cart. Then, he picked up Pearl, again without much trouble.

It took him a moment to realize that Crocodile was staring. Crocodile wasn’t outright disapproving of him, that much he could tell, but his expression was still unreadable. It was unnerving.

“...Can I help you, sir?” Rocinante spoke up.

“She didn’t call for me,” Crocodile said.

Suddenly, he connected the dots. The look on Crocodile’s face told him plenty; Pearl was his, and _only_ his, which meant that she had probably never bonded with anyone other than him. That she wanted to be around Rocinante was some kind of miracle in itself. It was possible, he thought, that Crocodile really didn’t like him encroaching in his space like that.

“I guess that says something about how often we see each other, huh?” Rocinante said, trying to pick his words carefully. “I’ve...well, I can’t say I’ve ever befriended a crocodile. I wasn’t even sure that was possible. But I’m not against it.” He let Pearl walk through his hands, being careful not to let her drop. “They’ve got a certain flair, don’t they?”

Pearl stopped walking to rest in his hand, and Rocinante stroked her from head to tail with the back of his other hand. She blinked, and slowly closed her mouth. She seemed content, it was almost as if…

When Rocinante looked up, he spotted Crocodile looking at him and...was he...smirking at him? No, it wasn’t quite a smirk. He appeared to be genuinely content, almost as if he...Rocinante felt something flutter in his chest. The brief moment ended when Crocodile seemed to snap out of the trance, his smile returning to a thoughtful scowl. He looked away, seeming a bit embarrassed, and Rocinante did the same.

It was time to change the topic.

“Ah, well,” Rocinante began, “I should probably head off.” He put Pearl away in the plastic case and shut the lid. “There’s still plenty to do before the day’s done.”

“Of course,” Crocodile answered. “Stop wasting daylight and get a move on.”

Rocinante quickly grabbed the clipboard and headed for the door. His hand hovered on the doorknob, however, and he ended up looking one last time at Crocodile. “See you tomorrow,” he said with a friendly smile.

“Hm…” Crocodile went back to reading the paperwork on his desk. “Don’t do anything stupid with her,” he said, though the comment sounded half-hearted.

Once outside the office, Rocinante stood for a moment. Luckily the hallway was empty, so he took the moment to let out a sigh, happy to have a quiet moment alone. He ran a hand through his hair as he glanced back at the heavy door behind him. Had that interaction...actually been _okay_ ? Had he really implied that he was _looking forward_ to coming back tomorrow? He put a hand to his forehead.

“...Shit,” he muttered.

He hurried off toward the elevator, Pearl’s plastic carrying case in one hand and the clipboard in the other, determined to forget whatever the hell just happened in that office. Crocodile was out of it, he was out of it. They were both tired, or…something. That was all. Things would be normal tomorrow.

As the elevator went down, Pearl attempted to find a means of escape from the box. Rocinante heard her claws scratch against the plastic, her tail letting out a thud every time she moved. At one point, the container was too big for her, but now she was too big for it. The door dinged, and he walked through it, ignoring any curious looks. It wasn’t every day that the little white crocodile left her palace, after all.

Upon arrival, Rocinante passed Pearl off to the veterinarian who took her to the examination room. With the task completed he found himself a chair and settled down in it. It’d probably be about an hour before he took Pearl back, what with all the little things Crocodile insisted she was checked for.

“Ah, Roci! Is that you?” Bon Clay said as he entered the room. Rocinante replied with a nod. “That must mean Pearl’s in the back,” he said with a sigh. “I was going to have him check Sahara first…seems I waited too long. That’s just bad timing on my part, I suppose.”

“Maybe it won’t take as long as it usually does?” Rocinante offered with a sympathetic smile. “It’s possible that she’ll cooperate.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it. That spoiled little princess can’t stand to be touched by anyone except…” He trailed off, his eyes catching Rocinante. He furrowed his eyebrows. “...Ehhhh? What’s that in your pocket?”

“My…?”

Rocinante looked down at the pocket on the right side of his shirt. A shiny, expensive looking metal pen was tucked away in it. He blinked in surprise; that was one of the pens from Crocodile’s office, wasn’t it? He pulled it out of his pocket and held it in his hand. It was heavy and well made, probably handcrafted, with a tiny gold crocodile on the cap next to some text that simply read “BAROQUE WORKS”.

“Oh,” he said. “I must’ve forgotten to put it back.”

“Don’t joke arooooound!” Bon Clay said. “Croco wouldn’t have let you leave with that, no sir! Especially not with it sticking out like a sore thumb where anyone can see it.” He shook his head. “He _gave_ it to you.”

Gave it to him? Of course he didn’t, was what Rocinante wanted to say. He vaguely recalled Bon Clay mentioning how Crocodile snapped at anyone who dared touch anything without permission, so why would he be so willing to give handouts? He twirled the pen in his fingers. It was probably just a mistake.

“He was a little out of it today,” Rocinante said. “Different than usual. Maybe he just didn’t notice when he handed me the clipboard.”

But Bon Clay shook his head. “Croco? Not notice something? Puh-lease,” he said. “He’s detail oriented, Roci. Even on his bad days.” He patted Rocinante on the shoulder. “Just accept the compliment! It’s not every day he hands those out, you know. They cost quite a lot.”

The pen in his hands suddenly felt a little heavier.


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you guys should totally check out this [super cute fanart](http://musasuchus.tumblr.com/post/143743899643/hello-there-its-me-again-i-would-love-to) that [ainiminamino](http://ainiminamino.tumblr.com/) showed me the other day! And also its [colored version](http://musasuchus.tumblr.com/post/143789063213/i-have-finished-the-drawing-but-it-seems-the)! I love it so much.

Sunday seemed like it was going to be generally uneventful, like any other day. They didn’t make any plans; Law never really seemed to want to do anything special for his birthday. When he turned eleven, according to Bellemere, Law had wanted a few books and kept to himself. On his twelfth birthday, he and Rocinante simply stayed inside for the day and went to the bookstore later in the evening. Law hadn’t mentioned any particular wants this year, nor did he suggest something similar.

However, Rocinante noticed that Law was acting a bit strange in the days leading up to his thirteenth birthday. He was unusually quiet and seemed to have something on his mind, yet whenever Rocinante asked about it, Law brushed him off. Law didn’t talk much after school, nor did he have the same spark that he usually did. Something was off, but Rocinante couldn’t quite place what it might be.

His birthday came this year on a Sunday, and it wasn’t until Saturday night that Law finally said something. They’d made dinner, just some simple meat and potatoes and a salad to go with it. As they were eating, Law spent most of the time picking at his food, eyeing it with general disinterest. Rocinante watched him worriedly.

“Not hungry?” he asked. Law shrugged in response, continuing to push around the fried potatoes on his plate. Rocinante frowned. “...Law, really, is there something the matter? You’ve been really out of it this week.”

Law stopped moving his food around and looked Rocinante in the eye, his expression unreadable. Then, he set down his fork and sighed.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About my birthday...there’s somewhere I want to go.”

“Oh?” Rocinante turned to give Law his full attention. “Where did you have in mind?”

Law didn’t say anything more for roughly a minute, seeming deep in thought, before he found his words again.

“I’ve been thinking...and I...I want to visit my family,” he said, giving Rocinante a solemn look. “Do you know where they’re buried?”

The response was unexpected; Law hadn’t spoken about his family in some time, Rocinante assumed he was trying to deliberately forget about them. One look at Law’s expression now told him the exact opposite. He wondered just how long the thought had been on his mind, and why he hadn’t suggested they go earlier.

“I don’t know where they are off the top of my head,” Rocinante said. “But I have an idea where they might be.” He offered Law a small, understanding smile. “I think it’s a great idea to visit them. Why don’t we figure out where they are first, and then tomorrow we’ll head over there first thing?”

Law visibly perked up. He said nothing, but he nodded and got out of his chair, racing to the computer in a hurry. Rocinante stared after him, a bit surprised. He glanced at the plate of untouched food across from him and then at the hallway where Law had gone.

“...I, uh, should I put away your dinner for later?” Rocinante called to him.

Moments later, Law came back into the room, lifted his plate and glass of water, and hurried away once again. Rocinante finished the contents on his plate, deposited the dishes in the sink and followed after momentarily.

Finding Law’s parents took a bit of backtracking. It wasn’t easy to find the information anymore, but after a little poking around and a few numbers dialed, they found the right location; an old cathedral just outside of Flevance. Law recognized the place the moment he saw the pictures. Rocinante jotted down the address and informed the cathedral that they would be visiting.

Early that Sunday morning, they set out. They drove along an aging road, its path full of potholes and alligator cracks. Law was staring out the window with the bouquet of lavender held gently in his arms, as if he was worried about hurting the flowers. The countryside passed them by in a blur of trees and worn farmhouses. Rocinante couldn’t remember if he had been to Flevance before or not, but the older part of town was completely unfamiliar to him. It was almost as if this area had been forgotten by the rest of the world, and nature had come to reclaim it.

“You were pretty insistent that we get lavender back at the flower shop,” Rocinante said, breaking the silence. Law glanced at him. “Any particular reason for that?”

“My mom really liked lavender,” Law said. “We used to have lavender in our yard, so there was always a vase full of flowers on the kitchen table. Mom always talked about having a private lavender and herb garden to make things from…but Lami always wanted sunflowers instead. That way, we could grow them and eat the seeds later.”

Soon more metal fence posts framed each side of the road, they came upon a tiny intersection. Without looking at the printed directions, Law immediately knew where to go, directing Rocinante to turn right.  He did so, and the road slowly became more smooth, probably having been repaired within the last few years.

“I’m surprised you know this area so well,” Rocinante said. “It’s been awhile since you were here last.”

“We used to come this way all the time,” Law said. “Every single week, my parents never forgot.”

Behind the metal fence stood an old cathedral. It was well kept and clean, the grounds dutifully tended to, and seemed to be quite popular judging by the number of cars in its densely packed parking lot. Law moved to look out the driver window, wordlessly watching people go in and out of its grand entrance. Rocinante wondered what sorts of memories Law had of it, what friends he might have had, or teachers, family friends, relatives...

He frowned a little. He...really didn’t know much about Law’s past, did he? He watched Law settle back down in his seat, and wondered if he should ask Law about it. His family tended to be a touchy subject, if Law didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t press...and yet...

They passed by the lot quickly, and within a few minutes Law directed him to stop at a dirt road framed by grass on both sides.  The car bumped along the uneven road, crunching sticks and gravel under its tires. It went a fair distance back into the woods with a canopy of trees leaving the area shaded. They came upon an old metal gate, chains loosely holding the two doors together, locks missing. Deciding to leave the car behind, they proceeded through the gate on foot.

To say the graveyard was old was an understatement. Headstones were tilting into the ground, their names weathered away by time to the point of illegibility. Law walked ahead of him, the bouquet of flowers hanging low in his right hand. It surprised Rocinante that he didn’t scamper away to find the particular headstone they were looking for.

Toward the back of the cemetery were the newer headstones, marked by cut grass and numerous gifts left for the deceased; some with well-kept white flower pots with intricate designs while others had simple bouquets, much like Law’s, and trinkets such as teddy bears and photographs.

Law stopped walking, and Rocinante nearly bumped into him. He looked down at Law, who was now squeezing the flowers tightly in his small hands. Rocinante followed his gaze to a polished headstone set away from the others; it had three names chiseled into the stone, and the top simply read, “TRAFALGAR FAMILY.” Law was frozen in place, eyes glued to the stone, as if had suddenly hit him that they were really and truly gone forever, that the headstone was an eternal reminder of what he had lost. Rocinante reached down to him and squeezed his shoulder. Law looked at him apprehensively before he walked away toward the grave.

It still had its newness, but the grass had since reclaimed the once upturned earth. A few old, dried bouquets remained at the site. Law stood in front of the monument for a moment before he picked up the dead flowers and replaced them with the new bunch. The lavender brought a little color, a little more light into the spot. Law sat down on the grass in front of the names and rested his head on his knees, seeming deep in thought. Rocinante approached slowly, but stopped the moment Law began talking.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to visit,” he said softly. “I thought that it was better if I didn’t.”

Rocinante halted in place, and decided that perhaps it was better to stay back and give Law some space. He watched as Law reached out to touch the stone, his fingers running over his father’s name, his mother’s name, his younger sister’s name...then he stopped at the fourth name. Rocinante’s eyes widened.

Law’s name was printed toward the bottom of the list.

It was left unfinished, with only Law’s birthdate engraved into the face with a dash, and Rocinante knew that whoever had commissioned it probably had assumed the worst for Law as well. It wasn’t uncommon for missing children to go unfound, after all.

“I was supposed to die that night too, wasn’t I?” Law said. “With all of you…” He let out a long sigh. “Sometimes I think that it would’ve been better like that.”

In shock, Rocinante simply stood there in silence, mouth hanging open. Law continued on talking, but he barely heard the rest of it. In all that had been going on lately, it hadn’t occurred to Rocinante that Law might still be suffering, that he _was_ still suffering without his family around. He turned away from Law, ashamed of himself.

He wasn’t doing enough for Law. He should have been working harder to help him open up and adjust. Law was always so private, did he still feel like he had to keep closed off...?

“...I got taken away for a little while, that’s the other reason I couldn’t be here sooner,” Law continued on, catching Rocinante’s attention again. “But that doesn’t matter. I’m okay now.”

He stood up from his spot on the grass and looked back at Rocinante. He smiled a little and gestured for Rocinante to come closer. Said person was reluctant to do so, tugging at his collar nervously, wondering if it was really okay to be included in this. But Law came up to him, grabbed his hand, and lead him over.

“Mom, Dad...this is Mr. Cora,” Law said. “He found me when I was lost and he takes care of me now.” His voice wavered a little as he spoke. “He’s...he’s not replacing you, but he makes me happy. And that’s what matters with family, right?”

Rocinante simply stared at Law, ultimately unsure what he should say in response. He turned toward the headstone. It felt as if Law’s parents were staring back at him, waiting with bated breath to hear what he had to say. Rocinante swallowed thickly. What could he say? What would they want to hear from him?

“I...I’ll admit that I’m...well, I’m not the best caretaker. I’ve done things in the past that I’m not proud of, but I’m trying to make up for it,” Rocinante said, gaze held firmly on the two adult names on the headstone. “I strive to make Law happy in any way I can. He has a warm place to sleep, a roof over his head, plenty of gluten free food...and he has people he can rely on now. He’s safe with me.”

A light breeze swept through the little plot of land, rustling the trees and shaking the grass. The stone said nothing to him.

“I think they would’ve liked you,” Law said. Rocinante looked down at him. “They liked everybody. Mom and Dad had a lot of friends. We...used to have these big parties all the time on holidays, a whole bunch of people always came...all my friends...”

Law dropped his arms to his side, the dead flowers loosely hanging in his fingers.

“My friends probably think I’m dead,” he said.

A bell rang in the distance, probably from the Cathedral. Both Rocinante and Law turned around to face it. Rocinante checked his watch. Due time for church to end. People would probably be leaving, the traffic would suddenly be worse...and perhaps...he looked down at Law as an idea came to his mind.

“Hey, Law, this cathedral was somewhere that you and your family went to often, right?” he asked. Law nodded. “Well...did you make any friends there?”

“Yeah. I used to have a class there and I was friends with a lot of kids,” Law replied. “Some of them went to my school, too.”

“We still have time, we could, maybe, go and see them if you’d like?”

Law inhaled sharply and looked up at Rocinante. Then he looked away, seeming conflicted. “Would...would they even recognize me?” he wondered, more to himself than Rocinante. “It’s been so long since I saw anyone, what if they…”

“Not recognize you?” Rocinante finished for him. Law looked away, nervously crumpling the dry flowers. “If they’re your friends, I’m sure they’d recognize you.”

He didn’t get a response from Law, who was looking down steadily. But eventually Law nodded, though he appeared unsure of himself. They returned to the car slowly, after Law gave the family grave one last goodbye, and Rocinante drove him back to where the cathedral was located. With enough people leaving, it was easy for them to find a parking space. But as they walked in, Rocinante noticed Law looking anxious, walking slower, eyes shifting around.

“Hey, Law, are you-” Rocinante began, only to be interrupted.

“Law? _Trafalgar_ Law? Is that you?”

The voice came from an older woman dressed neatly in a nun’s habit. Law seemed to recognize her as he left Rocinante’s side to approach her. She talked to him excitedly, and he answered back with a smile Rocinante was fairly unfamiliar with. The nun began to cry presumably tears of joy, before she called for a few of the other children, who all rushed over gleefully. Rocinante decided to hang back and watch them with a reserved smile.

He wondered why they hadn’t done this sooner, why Law never brought up his friends. Law was so reserved that he had few friends at the little Alabastan school he went to now. These children were different, however, and they brought the friendly side out of him; wide, curious eyes and a happy smile as he talked. Some kids were shocked to see him while others readily accepted his return and tried to drag him away into the yard to play.

Rocinante expected him to run off with them. He was shocked when he turned them down.

“Aww, what? Whaddya mean you don’t have time?” A younger boy in a hat with a red pompom said as he pouted. “You just got here…”

“Maybe later, okay?” Law said. “I wanted to show Mr. Cora around first...”

“Mr. Cora? Who’s that?”

Rocinante cleared his throat, drawing Law’s attention. “It’s, uh, it’s no big deal,” he said. “I don’t mind waiting for you if you want to spend some time with your friends. We have all day to spend in Flevance.”

A few of the children stared at him, eyes bulging and mouths open.

“Whoa!”

“He’s _so_ tall!”

“Who is that guy?” A girl whispered to Law. “Is he a basketball player?”

“He’s my dad. And he’s not a basketball player, he’s a police officer,” Law said, earning him a number of surprised gasps. “I live with him now.”

“No way! You live with a police officer?” Another kid spoke up, shaking Law’s arm excitedly. “Do you get to hear all about bad guys and stuff?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Law admitted.

Suddenly the gaggle of children was swarming Law all over again. They asked question after question, about his house, his new friends, his police officer caretaker...and Rocinante chuckled at the sight. He’d never really taken Law to be so...popular. But then again, Law was a little out of his element in Alabasta. Perhaps, when everything was all finished up, living closer to Flevance was a possibility? Seeing Law smile like that was worth the extra driving time.

Finally, after a bit of friendly struggle, Law pushed his way out of the little crowd and hurried over to Rocinante with a barely concealed smile. He gestured with his head toward the cathedral.

“C’mon, Mr. Cora,” he said. “I wanna show you around inside.”

“Don’t take too long!” A red haired boy called. “Or else we’ll play all the fun games without ya!”

Law turned back toward the group and stuck his tongue out. “It’s my birthday, dummy!” he said. “I’ve got _dibs_ on the best games!”

Quickly, Law led Rocinante up to the cathedral’s stone steps. It was an older cathedral, its statues and motifs worn away by weather and time, and in lower spaces by thousands of hands. Rocinante snuck in through the door, which was fairly small and forced him to duck. Voices from some of the remaining patrons echoed from further inside. Even their quietest steps made a decently loud sound in the expansive chamber.

He noticed that Law’s pleasant disposition had faded away once again. He almost seemed nervous, as if there was something disquieting about being in the building. Rocinante reached out to take his hand, but Law pulled away from him.

“Holding hands is for little kids,” Law muttered.

“Well...Maybe I’m the little kid who needs it,” Rocinante offered. Law gave him a weird look. “I don’t know where I am. I wouldn’t want to get lost, now would I?”

Law looked down at Rocinante’s large hand and contemplated it for a little while before he grabbed a hold of it. In the few years Rocinante had known him, Law’s hands had only grown larger, and now it wasn’t quite so awkward.

And Law wasn’t that frightened little boy anymore.

 

* * *

 

In a timeslot that Rocinante had made sure was empty, he, Smoker, and Tashigi decided to take a personal look into his list of numbers in the quiet of the station after hours. Finding a time when each of them was free of other duties was difficult, especially for Rocinante who had to escape Crocodile’s now twice as watchful eye.

“Alright, it’s the moment of truth,” Smoker said as he punched in the phone number on the station’s blocky old landline phone. “Let’s see who’s on the other end.”

Rocinante sat on the edge of the desk while Tashigi was leaning on Smoker’s, listening in carefully. The phone rang, then rang again, and then, finally, a third time. A voice came through. Smoker’s expression turned pensive, eyebrows scrunching up, before he sighed, placed the phone back on the hook, and scribbled out the name on the notepad.

“Who was it?” Tashigi asked.

Smoker sighed and answered with, “Some landscaping company from out of town.”

“Well, that’s just one number out of six,” Rocinante said. “They can’t all be duds, I’m sure he left them unmarked for a reason.”

Smoker crossed his arms as Tashigi picked up the phone and dialed the next number. “I sure hope y’found something in that office,” he said. “You’ve basically had the run of the place for months now, I’m surprised you haven’t come out with anything else yet.”

“There’s security cameras, Smoker, remember? I can’t just do whatever,” Rocinante said.

Tashigi put the phone up to her ear. Smoker and Rocinante watched her expectantly, both going dead silent as they waited to hear something. Tashigi twirled the cord of the phone around her finger, her glance shifting to the ceiling. Then, she made a face and let out an annoyed huff.

“Disconnected number,” she said, sticking the phone back in place. “It’s possible that it was a temporary cell phone or perhaps an older business. We can look into it later.”

Smoker handed the notepad over to Rocinante. “Your turn, Cora,” he said. “Maybe you’ve got the lucky number.”

Rocinante snorted in disbelief, but accepted the pad of paper. He looked it over, finding his designated number, and picked up the phone to dial it. Tashigi and Smoker watched him impatiently. The phone rang three times, then four, five….and continued ringing until Rocinante decided to end the call. With a sigh, he looked at Smoker and passed the numbers back.

“Nothing,” he said. “Did either of you trace these?”

“I did for the more unusual numbers,” Tashigi said. “They either had unavailable or sketchy information. That’s why we’re doing this manually instead.”

Rocinante hummed as Smoker started on the next number. He settled down on one of the other desks in the room and wondered if he should have taken the risk and copied down more information. Granted, there had not been much to jot down, but maybe it would have been a little more helpful. It wasn’t like he could just go back in there….

His hand nudged something and he pulled it away in surprise. A bulky flip phone was resting on the desk, forgotten.

“Hey, is that one of yours?” Rocinante asked, pointing to it.

Tashigi looked at it and seemed to recognise it immediately. “Oh, that’s Vergo’s phone,” she said. “He’s usually very reliable, but he also forgets things a lot.” She laughed. “We’ve had to bring him his phone several times now…He’s always so embarrassed about it.”

“He’ll be back for it later, he probably hasn’t even realized it’s missing yet,” Smoker added. Then, he scowled, and he furiously scribbled out the next number. “Dammit, it’s the number to a fucking pizza place.” He dropped the pen on the desk and shook his head. “These are worthless!”

“Hey, we’ve still got two more,” Rocinante said. “Give those a shot. If they’re all shit, then you can yell at me about it afterwards.”

Smoker made a face. “Oh come on, Cora. You know I’m not pissed at _you_ ,” he said.

Rocinante simply shrugged. “I know. But letting some frustration out might make you feel better,” he replied. “I mean, you’ve been more miserable than the rest of us throughout this whole ordeal.”

“I’ll just go for a run with Wanda later, clear my head.” Smoker sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Damn that Crocodile…”

Tashigi went ahead and dialed the next number. While they sat there in silence, Vergo’s phone vibrated. Rocinante glanced at it, but ignored it. It would be rude to answer someone else’s phone. It vibrated two more times before going still. Tashigi, who was on the phone, frowned.

“Hmm...I think we might have something here,” she said. Smoker perked up. “Nobody answered, but it led to voicemail.” She glanced at the number and dialed it again. “I’ll try one more time…”

She dialed the number again. Mere seconds after she put it to her ear, Vergo’s phone vibrated. Rocinante frowned and looked at it once more. Smoker and Tashigi seemed oblivious to the phone, too preoccupied. Rocinante slowly approached it as it buzzed on the table for the third time and he picked it up. It was nothing special, just another cheap flip phone.

“Well, I didn’t get anyone that time either,” Tashigi said. “We’ll trace that one too, see who the owner is--”

“Hey, Tashigi?” Rocinante said, catching her attention. “Could you call that number one more time?”

“Why?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows.

“Just call it.”

Tashigi gave him a weird look, but complied, once again typing in the number. Sure enough, the little cellphone in Rocinante’s hand buzzed again. This time, he raised it to eye level, opened it, and answered the call.

“Hello?” he said.

Tashigi jolted in place, looking between the receiver and Rocinante in shock.

“...Cora?” she whispered. Her voice came through the cell phone’s receiver as an echo. “What…?”

Rocinante pulled the phone away from his ear slowly, closed it, and simply stared at it. His mind was blank, unsure what to think of this connection. Smoker got up from his seat, walked over to him, and plucked it right from his hands. He turned it over a couple of times, as if he was seeing it for the first time again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” he muttered.

None of them said it, but Rocinante knew they were all thinking the same thing; why did Crocodile have Vergo’s number? Why was it secretly stashed in with a collection of other unlabeled numbers?

“That number…” Tashigi spoke up. “That number isn’t the one we have on file for Vergo. Both Smoker and I have him as a contact, and that definitely isn’t his...which means…” She looked down at the little phone. “...But it can’t be! I’ve seen him use that phone before. It can’t belong to anyone else.”

They all looked at each other, all equally as confused.

The front doors to the station opened with a sudden, loud noise, startling the bunch. Vergo walked in, smile wide. Rocinante took the phone back from Smoker. Vergo was here to get it, wasn’t he?

“Sorry if I’m disturbing you, but I seem to have left my phone somewhere,” Vergo said. “Have you seen it anywhere?”

Rocinante approached him with a small smile on his face. “Yes, actually, we were just talking about it,” he said, handing the device over to Vergo. “I spotted it on the desk and Tashigi told me that it belonged to you.”

“Ah, good, I was worried that I’d dropped it on the street,” Vergo said. “It would have been a shame if someone took it.” He tucked his phone into his pocket. With a polite smile to his fellow officers, he headed back to the doors. “I have to be on my way now. Good night.”

Rocinante saw him off with a half-wave, still smiling a cheery, friendly smile. Once Vergo was out of sight, he dropped the act and turned back around. Smoker and Tashigi were watching him with unreadable expressions. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“What?” He looked between them. “I couldn’t let him be suspicious.”

“Well, no, but...It’s scary how well you do that,” Smoker said.

Tashigi folded her arms, eyes on the front doors. “So, what now?” she asked.

“I don’t like being suspicious of my fellow officers,” Smoker said, crossing his arms. “Vergo and I are practically friends, you know. He’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”

“True, but the facts aren’t exactly with him,” Rocinante pointed out.

“Ugh…” Smoker rubbed his forehead. He looked at Rocinante and then at Tashigi. “In the meantime, Tashigi, you see what you can dig up.” She nodded and went to retrieve the notepad. “We might have to do a little searching around in downtown Alabasta.”

“And Vergo?”

Smoker shook his head. “I don’t know what to think about this,” he admitted. “I really, honestly don’t. I want to trust him, Cora, really I do. He’s a good man. There has to be some sort of explanation for this...”

It was possible that Crocodile had the number for safe keeping, to identify Vergo’s number when need be...yet he didn’t have Smoker or Tashigi’s information down. Rocinante ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Vergo was so friendly, always willing to help wherever he could. But, if he was working for Crocodile secretly...it would jeopardize Rocinante’s mission. His life, even, if Crocodile was angry enough.

Whatever they were going to do, they had to decide quickly.


	18. Chapter 17

The Spiders Cafe at 8:30 on Friday night. That’s what the text had said. Come well dressed or, presumably, not at all. That was how Rocinante knew Crocodile rolled.

He had a great time battling with Law over whether or not he needed a babysitter; in the end, he relented and let Law be. It was only for a couple hours, if even. Law was curious about just what it was he was doing, even teasing him a little that he was dating Robin in secret. Even though he assured Law that it wasn’t the case, he still seemed skeptical.

“You _have_ been acting kinda weird lately,” Law said. “Like, all sneaky and stuff.”

“We’ve talked about this Law, it’s nothing,” Rocinante insisted. “And Robin and I are just friends. Even if I did like her in that way, she’s got a boyfriend.”

“What?” Law said, eyebrows furrowing. “She never said that.”

“Well, maybe I asked her,” Rocinante said. “Next time you see her, you can ask about it and she’ll tell you that we’re not into each other like that.”

“Then who _are_ you gonna see?” Law asked. “You don’t normally get all dressed up like that for work.”

Rocinante paused and looked down. Law crossed his arms and looked up at him expectantly. He let out a huff and gave Law an amused smile. “Someone important,” he said, patting Law on the head. “That’s all you need to know for now.”

Law didn’t like that answer. And for the most part, neither did Rocinante. Crocodile was important, yes, but it was beginning to feel like that importance deviated from the assignment. He couldn’t deny that Crocodile had been on his mind more often than not, though he’d never admit it. No...no, this was just another part of the undercover mission. He was there to gather information on Crocodile. Ask questions, learn about him, use it in his reports. That was it.

When he entered the cafe, he immediately noticed that it wasn’t much of a cafe at all, at least not like any he’d been to. It was styled more like a restaurant proper, with elaborate tables covered in white tablecloths and atmospheric lighting. He wondered what sort of history the building had. Why call it a cafe when it so blatantly wasn’t?

Crocodile was waiting for him, arms crossed so that his threatening golden hook glinted in the light. He was centered in the room, surrounded by pristine, empty tables. Rocinante gave him a smile and half wave. Crocodile simply nodded and gestured for him to sit down, which he did.

As he eyed Crocodile, he was tempted to make some snarky comment about the whole situation. But in all honesty he was feeling a bit nervous; it wasn’t like they met outside of work every day, after all. Rocinante had assumed that this was some kind of casual thing for Crocodile, that soon enough he’d be bored and move on to someone else. Why was he inviting him out like this?

“Feeling private tonight?” Rocinante said.

“What?” was Crocodile’s response.

“The restaurant is empty.”

“Are you so eager to have your face on every magazine in the local store?” Crocodile said, letting out an annoyed huff. “I want the damn press to stay out of my personal life.”

Rocinante’s face paled. He hadn’t...considered that. Of course there would be someone around with a camera or a cell phone, and even a little rumor could be dangerous. If Smoker caught wind of this...if _Sengoku_ heard about it...oh, that would be one hell of a talk. He was suddenly very thankful for Crocodile’s thinking ahead.

A waiter with the number “5” stitched onto his vest walked by with two personal salad bowls and wordlessly placed them on the table. The restaurant only had three different choices on tonight’s menu; some kind of sandwich, a pasta dish, and a chicken entree. Rocinante had read them several times and was still ultimately unsure if any of them were gluten free. But it would have been rude to come all the way out to be with Crocodile and not eat _something,_ so he picked the chicken dish and handed back the menu.

He twisted the lettuce in his salad bowl without saying anything. Occasionally he’d glance at Crocodile, who was clicking the cap of his lighter open and shut, clearly annoyed by the lack of cigar in his mouth. He ignored his appetizer on the table. He almost wished that there were other people in the restaurant, if only to alleviate some of this uncomfortable silence.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to talk,” Crocodile said suddenly, putting down his lighter. “Not personally.”

“Oh?” Rocinante said.

“Tell me about yourself,” Crocodile said.

Rocinante froze, eyes stuck on Crocodile. Then he relaxed and let out a soft chuckle.

“What’s there to tell? I’m not that interesting,” he said.

“If you weren’t interesting I’d have dropped you immediately,” Crocodile said. “I don’t have time for average.” He smirked. “Why don’t you indulge me while I’m still curious enough to ask?”

Oh, terrific. Crocodile actually wanted to know things about him. What was he supposed to say? But he kept a level head, and tried to look casual, resting back against his slightly too stiff chair, while he created some mostly false persona on the fly.

“Well, you’re already familiar with the basics. I’m Rocinante, I like crocodiles, and I’m getting old,” he began jokingly. Crocodile didn’t appear to care much for the tone. “Outside of work...I like to keep plants. I have a nice little garden behind my house now. Can’t say I have that many hobbies, what with work taking up most my time and parent teacher conferences taking up the rest…”

“You...have children?” Crocodile asked slowly.

Rocinante paused, realizing he said too much. Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned that. But it was easily fixable.

“Just one.” Rocinante grinned widely as he proudly thought of Law. “He’s a bit of a troublemaker, always keeps me on my toes, but I love him all the same.”

Wordlessly, Crocodile scanned him, which made him feel a little uncomfortable. Then, when his eyes fell on Rocinante’s hands, he suddenly realized.

“I’m not married, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Rocinante said quickly, holding up his hands to emphasize the lack of rings. “We’ve been separated for a while now.”

“Is that so,” Crocodile said, the tone indicating that he didn’t believe him.

Rocinante nodded and then, with a sigh, he rested his elbows on the table and toyed with a stray piece of lettuce in his oil-slicked empty salad bowl. He thought of Bellemere and everything that had gone on as of late--that would work nicely.

“Yes, unfortunately it didn’t work out between us,” he said. “We got on really well at first, like we were made for each other, y’know?” Crocodile wrinkled his face a little and gave a half shrug, as if he had no idea what that meant. “For a while we were inseparable, just me and her, and we settled down...I think we sort of drifted after that...” He sighed again, shook his head as if the memory actually caused him anguish, and then attempted a half-hearted smile. “Well, whatever. It’s not like our relationship ended too badly, we still talk sometimes,” he continued. “And I’m getting on with my life pretty well, wouldn’t you say?”

Crocodile grunted, and turned his attention to his forgotten appetizer. As he began to eat, Rocinante had to suppress a smirk. Good. Lose interest. The personal life of Mr. Beans was boring and didn’t matter. He took a sip of the ice water on the table, cleared his throat, and caught Crocodile’s attention once more.

“That’s enough about me,” he said. “Why not tell me about yourself?” Crocodile eyed him with a strange look. Rocinante offered a friendly smile. “I can’t say I know anything about you.”

“Why do you want to know?”

Rocinante shrugged. “You invited me out here, after all,” he said. “You could’ve kept this a quiet little side affair.”

At this point, he could tell that Crocodile was very uncomfortable, some part of him regretting having done all this in the first place. Rocinante knew Crocodile didn’t like talking about himself, not in a personal sort of way at least. But he was a little curious himself about this sneaky crime boss. Whether it because of work or because of...whatever was going on between them, he didn’t really know.

The waiter returned with their entrees soon enough, which gave them both an excuse not to talk. Rocinante eyed his own choice; oh, of course it had to be _breaded_ chicken. He ate it slowly--admittedly, it was quite good--but he knew all too well that he was going to sorely regret it later, when he was on the ground writhing in agony while Law reprimanded him.

“You seem to know a lot about Alabasta,” Rocinante said after Crocodile didn’t respond. “How long have you lived here?”

“...Several years now,” Crocodile admitted slowly. “I came upon it in my travels.”

“And your name, Crocodile...that’s a nickname isn’t it?” Rocinante asked. “Did that come before or after the Rain Dinners crocodile motif?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Crocodile said with a chuckle. “My name has nothing to do with my pets. They were an afterthought.”

Rocinante hummed, and went back to picking at his food as he thought up something else to talk about. “So...Rain Dinners,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever asked--What started that? Was it your dream to have a crocodile-themed casino and hotel after you discovered your burning passion for crocodiles?”

It was mostly a joke, yes, but Crocodile seemed to be considering it seriously. He reached out and picked up a half-filled wine glass resting on the table and swirled the contents lightly. Then, he outright laughed at him.

“Kuahahaha! Dreams are for the weak-minded.” Crocodile looked at him oddly. “Business has nothing to do with dreams. It’s all about coming to terms with reality. You won’t get anywhere in life with your damn head in the clouds.”

“Hm,” Rocinante looked at him, and then went back to his food. “I’d always thought someone like you would have some kind of ambitions.”

“Ambitions, yes. Dreams? Don’t make me laugh,” Crocodile replied. “There are things I hope to achieve in my lifetime, I have plans and goals. Dreams are suited to those who have yet to be broken by the cold, harsh real world.”

Now _that_ sounded like Crocodile. Rocinante watched as he appeared to brush off the question and focus on his meal instead, though now Crocodile appeared a bit annoyed. Rocinante contemplated what else he could say, whether or not he should ask about something related to his mission...but that could easily land him in hot water if he didn’t ask it the right way. Perhaps now wasn’t the right moment.

Things went quiet again, with neither of them having anything interesting or worthwhile to say. But soon enough, a loud noise from the ceiling caught both of their attention. Crocodile glared up at it.

“The hell?” he said. “It wasn’t supposed to rain tonight.”

Rocinante looked up at the ceiling where he steady, loud pounding of rain was coming from. There had been a slight chance of rain, but he hadn’t thought it would be this intense. It was a sign that, perhaps, it was time to get back home to Law. He pushed back his empty plate and straightened himself.

“We should probably get going before the rain gets worse,” Rocinante said.

Crocodile seemed to agree, as he stood up from his seat. Despite Crocodile having bought out the entire restaurant, Rocinante left a tip on the table for the waiter. They both made their way back to the door, each grabbing their own coat. Once outside, the true ferocity of the rain was quickly discovered; it was like a monsoon. Rocinante looked at his car, which was parked near some bushes by the side, and inwardly sighed. There was no way to get to it without being soaked to the bone.

Crocodile, meanwhile, was looking for his missing driver who was probably supposed to have been waiting for him already.

“He’s late,” Crocodile said, looking at his watch with impatience.

“In his defense, the rain is making it a bit hard to see,” Rocinante said. “I don’t blame him for being careful.”

Crocodile looked out beyond the patio at the heavy rainfall. It was coming down hard, leaving rivers of water washing the pavement. Rocinante wished he had brought an umbrella, or perhaps just some better, waterproof shoes.

There was no sign of Crocodile’s driver in the distance, beyond the bushes that framed the parking lot of Spiders Cafe, but there was plenty of traffic passing them by. Crocodile let out an annoyed sigh and retreated to one of the benches outside of the cafe. Rocinante watched as he crossed his arms with a scowl.

“I _hate_ the rain,” he said.

“It doesn’t rain much here, does it?” Rocinante said, regarding the rain with a thoughtful look. “Not significantly at least.”

“That’s why I like it here. It’s supposed to be _dry_ ,” Crocodile said. He checked his watch yet again. “Dammit, this is taking too long.”

Crocodile was probably going to complain up a storm for every second he wasn’t in a car heading toward his castle of a house. Rocinante could have easily come up with a convincing story about needing to leave, but he found that he was unwilling to. Instead he took the empty seat to the right of Crocodile. It wouldn’t hurt to keep him company for a few more minutes, right?

“You know,” Rocinante began, catching Crocodile’s attention, “I didn’t know too much about you before taking this job. I’d seen your face in a newspaper a couple times, heard your name once in awhile...Never really thought I’d get to know someone like you quite like this.”

“Someone like me?” Crocodile asked, his tone a bit gruff.

Rocinante paused. “Well, yes,” he said. “You’re wealthy, fairly famous around here, hell, you’re even in the mayor’s good books. There’s something to be said about that.” He laughed softly. “And I’m...well, I’m just _me_.”

“We’ve been through this,” Crocodile replied. “I don’t do average.”

Rocinante let out an amused huff. Was that another compliment? Or was that Crocodile trying to defend himself for indeed picking out someone undeniably average? Regardless, Rocinante decided not to reply. He looked out at the rain as it pelted the pavement and rested his hands on either side of him.

And brushed Crocodile’s right hand.

He stiffened and looked down. Crocodile didn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with glaring out at the rain. Hesitantly, he traced small circles with his thumb, feeling each bony knuckle and cold ring. He counted four of them, and stopped on the last one. It was thinner than the others, but the jewel was just as large and probably was just as expensive. It was smooth, polished to perfection just like the others.

“If you have something on your mind, then say it.”

“Hm?” Rocinante looked up at Crocodile, who was giving him a curious glance. Then, he realized what he was doing and quickly jerked his hand away. “Ah--sorry, I was just admiring them. They suit you.”

Crocodile searched his face for another moment before he looked away. “...If you’re thinking about my past and current relationships yourself,” he began, “then you shouldn’t be. I’ve never had any interest in marriage.”

“I wasn’t,” Rocinante said. “But, thank you. That’s not a bad thing to know.”

Here they were, sitting on a bench in the rain, quietly, without making much eye contact. Rocinante couldn’t get past how absurd it seemed; it was like an awkward first date between two hormonal, awkward teenagers who were acting purely on impulse and hadn’t a clue in the world what they were doing. Except the man sitting next to him was much more dangerous. He let out a quiet laugh.

“And what, pray tell, is so funny?”

Rocinante looked at Crocodile and then back out at the parking lot and shook his head. “This whole situation,” he said. “You and me. It’s a little ridiculous, isn’t it? We’re both sitting here, side-by-side, silently avoiding the elephant in the room.”

Crocodile crossed his arms and let out a huff. “Does it _need_ to be addressed?”

“Well, I…” Rocinante paused, swallowed, and then looked down at his feet. He felt his face flush. “I wouldn’t _mind_ knowing if I should be giving this my all or if this is just some casual fling for you.” He glanced at Crocodile out of the corner of his eye. He was staring again, and Rocinante felt himself start to sweat a little. “Because I do like you. Probably more than I should.”

It felt strange to actually say it. Even more so because it was, for once, the absolute truth though he wanted to deny it. He felt all too vulnerable in that moment, what with Crocodile giving him that look and his sweaty hands suddenly starting to shake again. Crocodile hummed and leaned back, as if he was still processing this information.

“You can call... _this_ whatever you like. So long as you aren’t telling the whole world about it, I don’t particularly care,” Crocodile told him. “But I must admit, it’s a bit insulting that you’d imply that this is something I do carelessly.”

Rocinante’s mind turned to static. For a moment he was stuck staring stupidly at Crocodile, who seemed determined not to look at him. But even in the bad overhead lighting of the canopy, Rocinante could tell that he was embarrassed. His insides churned and he felt himself suddenly at a loss for words. He swallowed thickly and tried to think up something decent to say in response.

“I...I’d like to do this again sometime,” he said finally. “I mean, not necessarily here, per say, but...I’d like to spend time with you again, outside of work.” Oh, god, was he nervous. The urge to wipe the sweat off of his hands was all too hard to fight. “I mean, uh, if that’s alright with you, of course--”

He was abruptly cut off as Crocodile jerked Rocinante’s chin toward him and kissed him full on the lips. It didn’t last for more than a moment, but it still felt like ages.

“Shut up,” Crocodile said as he pulled away again. “You talk far too much.”

Rocinante’s head was still spinning. “Okay.”

Mere seconds after, Crocodile’s chauffeur came into the parking lot. Rocinante was all but forgotten, it seemed, as Crocodile got up and walked to the edge of the sidewalk. The driver, a man Rocinante only knew as “Mr. 3,” quickly got out and scurried around the car to open the door for Crocodile. Crocodile paused to regard Rocinante with a sneaky grin before he sat down inside the car.

They drove off, and Rocinante was left sitting in the rain, staring off in the direction they had gone while his mind was still floundering, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened.

 

* * *

 

Bellemere decided to come and visit Rocinante in Alabasta one afternoon. She’d never been to the city before, which left Rocinante to give her the unofficial grand tour of the downtown area.

They spent most of their time walking along on the street, chatting about day-to-day things and work related stories. Occasionally they stopped and ducked into one of the many unique stores that Alabasta had to offer. Somehow, they both ended up looking more at things they knew the kids would be into, as to be expected. They spend entirely too much time in a small used book store, Bellemere checking the prices on books about gardening and cartography and Rocinante taking a peek at kid’s medical books. They ended up leaving with a bag full of books that was heavy enough to set Rocinante off balance.

As they continued to walk along, something in a shop window caught Rocinante’s eye; a little gold painted metal crocodile. He paused for a moment. It had its mouth open wide, tail curled, and legs sprawled out in a threatening pose. It took him a moment to realize that the mouth was open to allow something to rest within it--a pen, perhaps? Crocodile didn’t have a fancy pen holder like that, did he? He fished his phone out from his pocket, snapped a quick picture of it, and, without thinking, sent it to Crocodile.

Seconds later, it dawned on him what he had just done. The tips of his ears flushed in embarrassment. Would Crocodile care that he was sending him pictures? Did it bother him? He hadn’t thought to ask.

“I saw that.” Rocinante froze. He slipped his phone into his pocket and looked down at Bellemere. She eyed him with a smirk before she peered into the window of the antique shop. “What’re you looking at over here, huh?”

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“Uh-huh. Nothing’s worth a photo memento?” Bellemere squinted at the little metallic crocodile. “That’s it, right?” she said, pointing to it. “The little metal gator?”

“It’s a crocodile,” he said, before he let out a huff upon realizing that Bellemere caught him. “What does it matter if I was looking at it?”

“That little piece of trinket trash is too gaudy, even for you and your little circus clown job.” Rocinante bopped her on the shoulder lightly and Bellemere laughed. “Even if you _did_ want it, why take a picture? Why not just buy the thing yourself?” she asked. “That new place of yours could use a little sprucing up.”

Rocinante scratched his head. “Aha...well...I suppose it reminded me of someone,” he said.

“From work?” Bellemere asked. “Did you make a friend there?”

An image of Crocodile flashed before his eyes and he smiled lopsidedly. “...Something like that,” he said.

Bellemere hummed, still eyeing the crocodile, before her eyes widened. She looked up at Rocinante in disbelief.

“...Oh my god,” she said.

“What?” Rocinante said. He took a step back as Bellemere got in his face. “What’s that look for?”

“You _met_ someone,” she said. Knowing that it was futile to keep resisting, Rocinante didn’t reply, and this only egged Bellemere on further. “I can’t believe this. What weird timing, too--what’d you tell them? You’re not feeding them lies, right?”

“Ugh, Bellemere--It’s only casual, alright?” Rocinante muttered. “I have no plans to be...involved with them after this.”

Which was, for once, the truth. However, Bellemere certainly wasn’t happy to hear it. She furrowed her eyebrows and made a face at him like she didn’t believe a word of it. Then she lifted her hands and squished his cheeks.

“You’re allowed to be happy, too, you know,” she said. Rocinante frowned at her. “You don’t have to live to work.”

“I _am_ happy,” he said. “Law and I are both very happy.”

“I’m still proud of you for taking him in. That was a huge step,” she said. “But if you want to like this person, too, then you can.”

Rocinante averted his eyes. “It’s not...It’s not that simple,” he said. “You don’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand plenty,” Bellemere said. She pulled her hands away from him and sighed. “In all honesty, I worry about you a lot. Always have. You’re so...driven, focused on the job that sometimes that’s all you can see.”

Rocinante continued to stay quiet, lost in thought. His career meant a lot to him; that was his goal in life after all, to work to his full potential and protect as many people as he could. He was happy with his little dysfunctional family, him and Law, and he didn’t need anything else. He gazed at the little crocodile again and felt something stir within him, something he dismissed immediately as uncertainty, uneasiness. Bellemere nudged his side.

“You should buy it for him,” she said. “If you think he’d like it.”

“I never said it was a him,” Rocinante said.

She shrugged. “Didn’t have to.”

Rocinante’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it back out, checked his messages, and was surprised to see that Crocodile had responded. He simply replied that the item was finely crafted. Rocinante smirked at the response; Crocodile would have never admitted when he did like something, after all.

Approximately five minutes later, Rocinante walked out of the tiny, hole-in-the-wall antiques store with the metallic crocodile pen holder neatly wrapped in newspaper. Bellemere teased him lightly as they walked, greatly enjoying the fact that Rocinante’s love interest was so into crocodiles.


	19. Chapter 18

The weather was getting colder. The leaves were falling from the trees and making for an annoying clean up as they fell directly into the water where the crocodiles liked to lay. Rocinante had some extra work on top of his usual business because of it, as he ended up being the one to fish them out before they broke down and fell to the bottom of the pool. There had been nothing out of the ordinary until later in the day, when he was summoned from the back of the crocodile hut after finishing up his daily jobs. Robin was seated on a bench, her ankles crossed, chatting with Bon Clay.

The second she saw Rocinante, however she quickly got up. Her face was friendly, casual, and Rocinante knew right away that something was amiss.

“Mind if I borrow your keeper for the afternoon?” Robin asked Bon Clay.

“...Ehh? Well, I can’t say I mind,” Bon Clay replied. “But what do you need him for?”

“I’ve got a job suited for him,” Robin said with a smile. “He knows Pearl better than anyone else working here, right? I’d like to discuss possible future enclosures for her.”

Bon Clay scratched his chin, shrugged, and turned to look at Rocinante, who simply nodded. “Yeah, of course,” he said. “I finished up the stuff in the back, so I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Perfect.” Robin gestured to the door. “Follow me, if you will.”

They crossed through the menagerie without a word, though Rocinante kept a trained eye on Robin. She wasn’t paying him any mind, and the fact that she needed to lead him away to talk about something Bon Clay would be more than happy to give his two cents on was fishy at best. Once they passed through some of the bushes and neared an employee entrance to the hotel, not the casino, Rocinante spoke up.

“This isn’t actually about Pearl, is it.”

Robin scanned their immediate vicinity before she shook her head. “You spend a decent amount of time with Crocodile. Did you notice anything...unusual about about him today?” she asked. “Did he seem off?”

“Hmm...Well,” Rocinante began, “come to think of it, I haven’t seen him all day. I usually see him at least once.” Robin opened the door and held it as Rocinante went into the building. “...I’m guessing that has to do with this?”

“Several months ago, I suspected that he was up to something,” she said, lowering her voice as they passed by a couple of doorways. “I’d almost forgotten about it myself until today. He had been slinking around all morning like something was troubling him. Then, about half an hour ago, he disappeared.”

Rocinante furrowed his eyebrows as he listened to Robin talk. Then, his eyes widened. “The meeting.”

“Yes.” Robin nodded. “And I believe I’ve figured out where he might be.”

Crocodile had a more private meeting space in the depths of the casino, tucked away somewhere deep in the interior, out of reach of most and known by few. But Robin seemed familiar with that end of Rain Dinners, as she effortlessly led Rocinante around corners, past some of Crocodile’s goons, and through several storage rooms. To say it was suspicious would be an understatement--why build a room that was so difficult to reach?

Eventually they came upon a door placed beside a laundry room. It might have been passed up by someone else, but what caught Rocinante’s attention was that it had a card reader and a number pad. As far as he knew, this was the only door with that level of security. Calling this room shady was an understatement. He hesitantly reached out and tried to open it, withdrawing his hand when it was locked tight.

“I don’t suppose you know someone who can open it?” Rocinante asked, turning to look at Robin.

“As a matter of fact…”

Robin dug into the tiny kitty purse at her side and pulled out a small card key. It appeared to be one of the hotel’s, featuring the words “RAIN DINNERS CASINO HOTEL” along the side with a depiction of the building and several stylized crocodiles along the edges. She swiped the card through the reader and typed in a number too quick for Rocinante to read. The door clicked, the light changed from red to green, and she opened the door.

Behind the door was another meeting room styled and colored like any other room in the hotel. There was a long table with ten chairs, a fancy window overlooking the street outside, and a couple fake plants in the corners. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, completely void of any suspicious activity. Rocinante glanced around the room, slowly walking around the table.

What was the catch?

“Once, before the grand opening of Rain Dinners, Crocodile took all of the staff to this private meeting room,” Robin said to him. “I hadn’t thought much of it then. But after a while, I noticed that there were times he’d walk into this room and disappear for hours at a time.”

“I’m assuming he wasn’t in here to smoke,” Rocinante replied.

“Fufufu,” Robin chuckled. “No. He wasn’t in here at all.”

She walked over to what appeared to be a closet door, opened it, and then walked inside. Rocinante blinked, frowned thoughtfully, and then walked over to the door to see what Robin was up to. Inside the closet there were plenty of coat hangers, a small vacuum cleaner, someone’s forgotten, expensive leather shoes...and a door. There was a door built into the back of the closet. It creaked open. Robin poked her head through it.

“When in doubt,” she began, “always check the closets.”

It was a tough squeeze for Rocinante to get through the tiny closet door, but the moment he did get through, he noticed that it was silent. The bustle of the hotel and all its inhabitants died down immediately. The space was devoid of all the usual Rain Dinners decor; the walls were left white and the floor was concrete. The only noise came from Robin’s clicking heels and Rocinante’s footsteps.

The hallway was slanted down just a bit with segments of stairs, as if they were slowly descending into a basement--maybe they were. _Was_ there a basement in Rain Dinners?

“I should mention one other thing: Daz Bones is missing too,” she said. “He usually oversees the casino during the day in case of trouble. It’s not like him to leave, not unless Crocodile requested him to do something else.” The two quickly descended a small staircase that wound around a bend. “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him. I think he’s been posted elsewhere.”

“He’s not down here?” Rocinante asked. “Wouldn’t it be better to post him in that room back there, to make sure that...ah, people like _us_ aren’t running around?”

“Only a certain number of us have the key and access code to that room,” Robin said, “I don’t think he’s terribly worried about unauthorized people sneaking in through the closet either.” She hummed and tapped her chin. “However, there is one other door like that one...I believe it’s at the lowest level of the parking garage. Fufufu...What a strange place to put that kind of door.”

Rocinante paused in walking and stared at Robin’s back. It wasn’t a surprise that she knew all these little secrets of the building, no doubt she’d been here since its construction, and yet...if she knew this was here, why hadn’t they come down here before?

“If this place has been here since the beginning, why haven’t you told me about it?” he asked. Robin stopped walking. “I’ve been poking around this place for months and I haven’t come across anything like this yet so far. This investigation could have--”

“Could have been cut shorter?” Robin finished for him. Rocinante made a face but nodded. “Yes, perhaps we could have cut right to the chase if I’d simply brought you down here in the first place. However...” She looked down the hallway. “There’s nothing to be found here even on a good day.”

“ _What?_ ” Rocinante said, exasperated. “Then why are we--?”

“Fufufu...Calm down. I wouldn’t have lead you down here if I didn’t think it was worth our time,” Robin replied. “While yes, it’s very empty on most days, on special occasions like these…one might see all sorts of interesting things.”

They both fell silent as they heard the telltale sound of rushed footsteps echoing on the opposite end of the hallway. Both of them exchanged glances.

“Crocodile?” Rocinante whispered to her.

“Perhaps,” she responded softly.

She gestured at him to follow her again, and they crept along the hallway once more. The air began to gradually get colder as they reached the lowest level of the casino-hotel space. Whoever was wandering around had disappeared through a door into one of several numbered rooms. Robin suddenly stopped, slipped off her shoes, and sneaked over to one of the doors. She placed her ear up to it, and then nodded. Rocinante shuffled over.

“This one is only a storage room,” she whispered. “Old equipment, boxes of paperwork. Nobody will be in there. That’s where you need to be.”

“And you?” he asked. “Where do you plan on going?”

Robin didn’t answer him, but he caught a glimpse of her disappearing down the hall. He sighed softly. Working with Robin was so frustrating sometimes.

Door number two was, as Robin had said, a glorified storage closet. Rocinante didn’t want to risk turning on a light, but he also didn’t want to risk dying by tripping over one of the many, many items he couldn’t identify on the floor. He had to carefully step over each item...which was easier said than done. He had already fallen twice into piles of boxes and once into...well, in the dark it was hard to tell what it was but his landing had been quiet and soft.

With a little poking around, he managed to find a spot next to the wall that separated the second and first rooms. He put his ear up to it. At first he couldn’t hear anything. Then, suddenly, a door was loudly shut and locked. One set of footsteps walked across a hard floor. Rocinante strained to listen for any bits of conversation.

“What the hell are you doing here before the designated drop date?” Crocodile asked gruffly. “You’ve already got the press and every cop in a thousand mile radius tailing you. I don’t want you strutting around like you own the damn place.”

“Fufufu...Well, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d pay you a visit. Can’t a friend stop by for a chat every so often?”

That voice. There was no mistaking who that was.

“We _aren’t_ friends, Doflamingo,” Crocodile said.

“Touchy as always, I see,” Doflamingo replied. “As I said, I was tying up some loose ends here in Alabasta and I thought I’d see how things were doing on the Croc side of town. We haven’t seen each other in months! Surely you missed me a little bit?”

“It hasn’t been long _enough_.”

They continued to talk, but soon enough Rocinante could barely comprehend what they were saying. He could hear his heart in his ears. His instincts told him to run, to get away from there, but he was suddenly paralyzed. His mind raced; of all the places for Doflamingo to show up, why did it have to be here? Did Crocodile’s operation run that deep underground that Doflamingo felt the need to be involved? He swallowed thickly.

No, no, he needed to leave. Right now.

He took two steps away from the wall, eyes still fixed on it. The muffled sounds of voices could still be heard. He jerked his head toward the faint glow around the door--the path to it seemed clear enough. He quickly walked through the junk. Maybe if he got a head start, hid somewhere, or--would he have time to gather his things and leave? The ever-present danger told him to bolt down the hallway and not look back, duck into a bathroom or out the back door. But as he took the first step, he halted. Robin would surely pester him with questions. He needed this information. Sengoku would be raving about it if he learned that Doflamingo was here….

But in this room, this tiny cement room with only one door, he was trapped. Should Doflamingo figure out he was here--if he heard him, if he came looking--it would be all over. For the undercover mission, for the case, and for him. Sengoku wouldn’t want that, would he? Of course not. Now he just had to get to the door, report his findings, and escape. Robin could handle herself, couldn’t she?

Somehow he made it through the junk without dying--and he discovered with a little light from the hall that the thing he’d fallen onto was a stuffed crocodile carnival toy. Closing the door behind him, he quickly hurried away down the hall from which he’d come.

“Doflamingo,” he muttered. “Why does it always have to be Doflamingo…”

After a few twists and turns, the closet door was in sight. He reached for it and pulled it open. However, as he climbed inside, his feet tangled in the cord of the vacuum. As he tried to free himself he bumped his head on the pole and sent the hangers flying off the rack. When he tried to use the other door for support, he realized a moment too late that he had not shut it on the way in. He fell out onto the floor in a heap of cords and hangers. With a groan, he sat up and shook his head.

Daz Bones was waiting there just beyond the door, arms crossed, with a disapproving scowl on his face.

“I thought there was something unusual about that door being open,” he said. “Seems it was a good idea to check this post as well.”

With one tug, he pulled Rocinante free of the cords and hangers and set him on his feet.

“I--” Rocinante struggled to think up a good excuse as to why he’d been in the closet. In short, he couldn’t think one up. “I, er--”

“When we first met, I had my suspicions,” Daz continued, “and now I have my proof.” He kept a firm grip on Rocinante’s shoulder. “The boss won’t be very happy about this.”

Daz lead Rocinante out of the room, not paying any mind to anything he tried to say to him. It was pretty much a walk of shame as people from various parts of the hotel caught sight of them; oh, this was going to be an interesting situation to get himself out of.

He silently went through various scenarios in his head. What kinds of excuses could he use? He couldn’t say it wasn’t intentional, not when the area was already restricted. He couldn’t say anything about Robin--one of them needed to get out of here with that information. Maybe he stole the card key and pressed her for information? No, no, she still had the key, didn’t she?

The walk of shame stopped at Crocodile’s office, which Daz opened, pushed him into, and locked again. Well, this was it. Rocinante stared over the space in the office. This is where it ended. He looked toward the crocodile tank, where the slightly too big Pearl was bobbing happily in her fresh, clean water. He paced around around by the door. Crocodile would be back any moment. And he’d believe Daz over anything he had to say, wouldn’t he? He hissed and grabbed a fistful of his hair. Should he call for backup? Alert the Alabasta Police Department? No, that’s exactly what would give him up. And it would send Crocodile away in a rush--without him getting the full details.

He settled down on the couch in the corner with a heavy sigh. Any route he came up with seemed terrible. But which one was the _least_ terrible?

Ten minutes later, the door was unlocked. He looked up at it and tried to compose himself. Crocodile was the first to walk in. He seemed confused--and very agitated as a result. He regarded Rocinante with the same expression before he looked back at Daz again.

“Alright, what the hell is this about?” Crocodile snapped.

Daz entered the room followed closely by Robin--Rocinante did a double take. Where the hell had she come from? She looked at him with a small, disapproving frown and said nothing to him. It was probably better that way. No good to make it seem like they had been working together. As Daz explained the situation, Crocodile’s gaze shifted to look at Rocinante. Seconds later, his gaze changed from indifferent to hostile; in that moment Rocinante realized that it was the first time he saw Crocodile legitimately angry. He pushed past Daz to grab a fistful of Rocinante’s shirt and effortlessly shoved him into the wall.

“Start talking,” Crocodile snapped. “You have thirty seconds before I end you right here, right now.”

It wasn’t a threat meant to be taken lightly; Rocinante knew that he’d act on it in a heartbeat. He looked at Crocodile warily. Behind him, Daz had his lips pressed into a fine line. Robin was also watching him sternly, as if she too was disappointed in him. Clever.

What was the best plan of action here?

“...I’m sorry,” Rocinante confessed, holding his hands up. “I just...I had to know for sure.”

Crocodile narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying my patience, _Rocinante._ ”

Rocinante inhaled deeply and then exhaled. “I suppose I should just come clean, huh?” he said with an awkward smile. “My real name is Donquixote Rocinante.”

A flicker of recognition sparked in Crocodile’s eyes. Rocinante knew he recognized it--how could he not? The shock passed to his bodyguard, and even to Robin, who appeared genuinely surprised by this revelation. Then Crocodile’s eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re a member of The Family,” Crocodile muttered, expression changing to irritation. He dropped Rocinante, who stumbled a little, and then turned away, his rage suddenly directed elsewhere. “What the hell does Doflamingo think he’s doing, sending a _mole_ \--”

“ _Not_ exactly,” Rocinante interrupted. Crocodile turned back to look at him. “I mean, you’re not completely wrong. But I haven’t been affiliated with them in years.”

He knew that Crocodile didn’t believe a thing he was saying. Doflamingo, he knew, didn’t just let people walk away from The Family. No one ever up and _left_. However, there was something else in Crocodile’s eyes; betrayal. That sliver of hurt mixed in with the white hot rage where Rocinante knew he was thinking about each little thing that happened between them. He realized that he was looking at his immediate future.  Mole or not, Rocinante’s end goal _was_ to see the man imprisoned. All those notes, that snooping around, hell, even his attempts to get closer to Crocodile--it was all to meet an end.

The very thought made Rocinante’s heart skip a beat. Somewhere he’d lost himself in that happy little fantasy where he wasn’t preparing to turn around and stab Crocodile in the back. As if there was a place for them in all of this...He composed himself, keeping his expression serious and pretended that he wasn't actually affected by it, but that ache still remained.

“Whether or not you believe it, I’m not a mole,” he said, continuing on. “Doffy doesn’t know I’m here, let alone that I’m still alive.”

It was that detail that caught Robin’s attention. From behind Crocodile, she visibly perked up, looking at Rocinante with a new interest; what a great talk that was going to be. Crocodile, however, didn’t seem nearly as interested. He regarded Rocinante with a skepticism. One movement brought that golden hook to Rocinante’s neck. The cold, smooth curve pressed into his skin and he shivered.

“Tell me. If you’re not here to tell Doflamingo about whatever the fuck he thinks he needs to know, then why _are_ you here?” Crocodile asked. “Spare me the sob story. I’m not interested in dealing with your family drama.”

Rocinante paused to think of the best way to phrase his thoughts, and then let out a quiet laugh.

“It really was just a coincidence,” he said. “A very strange, unwanted one. If I’d known beforehand that there was any chance of Doflamingo showing up here...” He shook his head. “I’m only here to take care of the animals. But, I mean...if you think I should leave on account of-”

“I said I’m _not_ interested in your damn family drama,” Crocodile snapped.

Rocinante immediately went silent, closing his mouth as Crocodile stared him down. They held each others’ gaze for a moment longer before Crocodile broke eye contact. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as he turned away from Rocinante to lean on the desk. Rocinante wanted to reach out to him, or say something. His better judgement told him to keep quiet. He was already in enough trouble as it was.

“I need to think,” Crocodile muttered. Then, he snapped his fingers and pointed to the door. “Get out. You too, Sunday.”

Neither of them had any say in the matter as Daz kindly escorted them out the door and shut it behind them. Robin held her serious face, looking at Rocinante as if she really was judging him, before she tapped his shoulder and pointed down the hallway. Get away from the door. Out of hearing range. Rocinante nodded and went along until they reached her office. Once inside, Rocinante let out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“That was...” he said, with an incredulous laugh. “That was awful. What do you think he’ll do now?”

“It’s hard to say,” Robin answered. She glanced at him quizzically. “How did Daz find you?”

“I….uh,” he replied, remembering the incident in the closet. That was better left unsaid. “Turns out he wasn’t in the parking garage.”

Robin hummed in response. For a long moment, they simply sat in silence as the tension dissolved once more. Rocinante kept sneaking glances at Robin, who still looked to be processing everything that he had said. Maybe it was a bit too much to handle all at once. There was a reason he didn’t talk about it.

“I’d say you handled that situation fairly well for what it was,” she said finally. “That said...your story sounded far too believable to be a--”

“It’s not,” Rocinante said. “Doflamingo is my older brother.”

Robin’s eyes widened. “ _Really_ ,” she said, as if this was the juiciest piece of gossip she’d heard in years. “Fufu. It certainly is a small world, isn’t it.”

Without another word, she got up and went to the large filing cabinet on her right. Rocinante watched as she unlocked and pulled out a long row of cream colored file folders. At the very back was a large folder packed to the brim with information. She pulled it out and set it on the desk.

“We’re working different cases, you and I, but for similar goals,” she said.

She slid the folder across the desk. Rocinante opened it and briefly scanned the contents. There was not one, but several dozen different unresolved cases featured. Each had its own set of pictures, a brief description, witness accounts, and whatever else was available. All the incidents seemed to be centered around a town called Dressrosa, which Rocinante was vaguely familiar with. As he paged through, he came across some missing persons reports, faces he was and wasn’t familiar with, and some very blurry pictures he couldn’t make out. It looked like Robin had done a lot of work to collect each and every scrap of information.

But he didn’t put it all together until he saw it; that all too familiar insignia he’d seen spray-painted onto the sides of buildings. The sign of The Family.

He looked up slowly to meet Robin’s eyes.

“You’re here for Doflamingo,” he said.

Robin nodded. “I had been planning to stay out of the Joker case until a job I couldn’t refuse was offered to me,” she said. “I tracked him to Crocodile, but couldn’t make the exact connection until now.” She smiled faintly. “Now that I look at you, I can see--”

“ _Please_ don’t finish that sentence.” Rocinante held up a hand. “I’d rather not be associated with him.”

“That’s fine,” Robin said. She took a pen from the cup on the desk and clicked it. “So, you said you were once affiliated with The Family, correct? When was that? Are you aware of their current whereabouts?”

Ah yes, Rocinante thought, time for this again.

“No,” he said. “It was a long time ago. I’m sure that by now Doflamingo has moved everything, any information I have is--”

“Do you remember any of their codenames?” Robin continued. “I’m aware of the names of two of his executive officers and several Family members, but there are supposedly a greater number now.”

“The ones you know are the ones I know,” Rocinante said pointedly. “Seriously, there’s nothing more I can--”

“The Joker identity has been difficult to confirm without much photo evidence, but can you confirm the connection?”

“Yes, but--Robin, please stop asking me these questions.” Robin looked up from her notes. “This….this isn’t a part of my life that I like to talk about.”

“Understandable,” Robin replied, setting down her pen. “But considering the nature of your relationship with him, it’s only natural to ask. The information is very valuable.”

Which was a response he’d gotten from many people, including Sengoku. That didn’t make it any less irritating. There was so much more to him than Doflamingo. Especially now that he’d gone and made a name for himself.

Rocinante looked away, directing his gaze to Robin’s collection of antique buttons. At this moment in time, he thought, he really should have been more worried about Crocodile than Doflamingo. It wasn’t as if he would be allowed to prance around the halls, what with the police on his tail. Right now, he was safe from harm. Maybe not safe from the wrath of Crocodile, but at least vaguely safe.

“Have you ever heard of SMILE?” Robin spoke up, catching his attention again.

“Can’t say I have,” Rocinante said.

“It’s a new market drug. It only recently began circulating within the last three or four years,” she said. “I’ve not heard too much about it myself but I have heard that, in theory, it’s some kind of enhanced steroid. Very difficult to come by casually. Your brother is thought to be the head of production.”

He sighed. “Why am I not surprised,” he muttered.

“From that reaction, I’m guessing you don’t know anything about it?” Rocinante shook his head. “Mmmm...that’s unfortunate. That kind of information is very hard to come by. Perhaps I’ll have to resort to more drastic measures...”

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t,” Rocinante said. “Doffy--No, _any_ of them--they’re not people to be taken lightly. If he’s gotten himself involved in some black market drug network and his...whatever the hell he’s making, is that under wraps...then he’s serious about it.” He gave Robin a serious look. “Is the Dance Powder market involved with this new product of his, too? From the way they were talking, it certainly sounded that way.”

“It’s probably reasonable to assume so,” Robin answered. “I don’t believe Crocodile keeps any of the product here, though. If I was to venture a guess, it might be hidden here in the city or somewhere nearby.”

Somewhere in the city. That was a very large search area. While not the largest city around,  Alabasta was by no means small. They couldn’t just run around the city, blindly searching any place that seemed suspicious. Crocodile might have placed it in a very secret location, somewhere one might not think to look for it, in a house or another business.

And what was it that Doflamingo had said? Something about handling business in the city...which likely meant that he would still be around for longer. He couldn’t just let everyone go running around the city looking for Dance Powder, now could he? Not if there was the possibility of running into Doflamingo. Crocodile was one thing, but _Doflamingo_...he was probably the only one who even knew what he was capable of.

What a glorious mess this was turning out to be.


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, sorry for flaking out on you guys last weekend! The main reason I didn't post a chapter is because not only was I really struggling with personal issues that week, but it was also my birthday on Saturday which left me busy for almost three days. 
> 
> Blackbird will now return to its usual once every two weeks update schedule, barring any sudden problems! It's a little difficult to notify everyone of delays and such, so for any folks looking for updates I recommend following my [Twitter account](https://twitter.com/musasuchus) or my [Tumblr](http://musasuchus.tumblr.com/)!

The casino was never a quiet place. Certainly, some areas were quieter than others at various times of the day, but there was always some kind of noise. Sometimes it was people, other times music. Rocinante felt the subtle vibrations of music coming through the floor and wondered if it was some kind of theme night or event he’d forgotten. But at the moment he had more important business to attend to.

He’d sought refuge with Robin for roughly an hour, assuming that at some point Crocodile would come and find him on his own. But he hadn’t. And that prompted Rocinante to go and speak to him instead. It was entirely possible that Crocodile simply had more important things to do--after all, as far as he knew, Rocinante wasn’t much of a threat. Or maybe Doflamingo was still strutting around in the basement and Crocodile needed to appease him?

When he came to the all too familiar doorway, he paused. It was closed and as far as he could tell, silent. Mentally, he ran through a few things he could say--assuming the worst, assuming the best, assuming that Crocodile wasn’t entirely sure himself-- before he made his approach.

He lifted his hand to knock. But just as he did, he heard someone inside unlock it. As he stepped back, Crocodile emerged from his office, shutting the door behind him quietly. He didn’t face Rocinante, instead content to stand in the hall and smoke. He seemed...calm. Calmer than before, at least.

“...So, er. Do you still want to kill me?” Rocinante asked slowly.

Crocodile removed the cigar from his mouth and exhaled slowly. “That depends,” he said. “How much do you know?”

“Not much,” Rocinante said. “I didn’t catch much after what you said initially. Something about you and my brother meeting up.” He gave Crocodile a wry grin. “I don’t have to worry about competition from my own brother, do I?”

“As if I would even entertain _that_ thought.” Crocodile groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m still getting used to having another damned Donquixote under my roof.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

“I suppose I can’t blame you for keeping it from me. If I was related to that man I would prefer it not to be common knowledge.”

Rocinante chuckled. “I take it you’re all too familiar with my brother, then,” he said.

“Is this going to become an issue?” Crocodile asked, finally making eye contact with him.

“Doflamingo and I? I sure hope not,” Rocinante said. “He shouldn’t know that I’m here.” He crossed his arms. “Not to get too deep in the family politics, but I don’t know what he might do if he _does_ find out about me.”

“Hm.” Crocodile folded his arms and closed his eyes. “I suppose we’ll have to keep things under wraps. If you can keep your trap shut, then I won’t say anything about you to him.”

Rocinante was taken off guard. “Wait. You’re letting me stay?”

“I’d rather have you here where I can keep my damn eye on you than out there where you can tell the whole world that Joker is lurking in the basements of Rain Dinners,” Crocodile said sternly. “It’s one rumor I’d rather not have to address.” He paused to take a drag of his cigar and then exhaled a cloud of smoke. “That, and competent keepers are few and far between.”

Rocinante let out a relieved sigh. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know what I’d do if I suddenly had to find a new job out of the blue like that.”

“Then don’t let me catch you in places where you don’t belong,” Crocodile warned.

Rocinante scratched the back of his head. “Aha...sorry about that too,” he said, avoiding Crocodile’s judging gaze.

This was a dangerous game he was playing. Crocodile wasn’t going to take a second betrayal lightly--hell, he probably wouldn’t even think twice about tearing his throat out with his hook.

Part of him wished that Crocodile would make the final call, would drop him and find someone else--surely, he had someone else he was screwing around with? The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, but Crocodile did seem the type. And why was he even bothering with someone like him anyway when there were richer, more powerful people to pursue?

“...There’s, uh, one other thing I’d like to know,” Rocinante began. “In all of this mess...after all of this is cleared up...where does that leave _us_?”

“I said I’d give you the benefit of the doubt,” Crocodile said.

“I’m surprised you’re giving me that much,” Rocinante mumbled. “Here I thought you’d get rid of me--”

“There’s still time if you insist on running your mouth off like that,” Crocodile said. “Would you prefer it?”

“No, no, of course not!” Was Rocinante’s knee-jerk response, something he knew he’d be kicking himself later for saying. He offered Crocodile a smile. “I’m just...surprised, that’s all. It’s a nice surprise, I got all worried that...Well, I’d hate if things ended on a bad note like this.”

Suddenly Crocodile’s hand was on his chin, pressing his mouth closed. Crocodile was looking at him with an expression that was equal parts smug and dangerous.

“Think of it this way,” he said. “Now you’ve got your chance to make it up to me.”

Rocinante simply nodded and said nothing more, fearful of what other stupid things he might say. Then Crocodile pulled away from him and went on his way, seeming like he was at least somewhat content with himself. Rocinante knew that Crocodile was no fool; he wasn’t going to take this incident lightly, there would be eyes on him at all times now.

He rubbed the spot on his chin where it had been touched; the feeling still remained. He closed his eyes and lightly struck the wall with the side of his fist.

“....Donquixote Rocinante, you’re the stupidest man alive,” he grumbled.

 

* * *

 

After the incident, stress at work began to pick up for Rocinante. Law, too, slowly became more stressed as schoolwork and tests began to wear down on him. Neither was much in the mood for cooking or cleaning and soon the house turned into a bit of a sty. Takeout boxes, pizza boxes, paper plates to no end. When the weekend rolled around, they took the time to clear up everything...but soon became burned out once more. And that’s when Bellemere called and invited them to a home cooked meal and movie night in.

Rocinante only realized how much he’d missed home cooked meals when he entered Bellemere’s kitchen and caught the scent of slow-roasting meats and steaming vegetables. Her friendly, welcoming home was a nice change of pace.

“So, um, what’s on the menu?” Rocinante asked, lifting the lid of the slow cooker.

“Nothing too special. Just a roast and some veggies,” Bellemere answered as she cut up potatoes into tiny pieces. With one swipe of the knife, she slid the pieces into a pot of water that was boiling on the stove. “Nojiko? Could you come here and keep an eye on the potatoes for me?”

“Got it!” Nojiko hurried in from the living room and took her post.

Law, who’d only been watching from his seat at the table, finally turned to look at everyone busying themselves in the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

“Sure can!” Bellemere responded. “Could you set the table?”

Somehow they managed to fit all five place settings and two extra chairs at Bellemere’s table this time, though it ended up being a tight squeeze for Rocinante and his long legs. But they all happily, and noisily, chowed down on their meals. Nami talked about school, Nojiko mentioned the garden which prompt Law to talk for a short period of time.

Eventually conversations drew to a close as everyone got too busy with full mouths to say anything. But soon Nami spoke up once again.

“Hey, Mr. Cora?” Nami asked, mouth full of potatoes. “Why do we always call you Mr. Cora? Is that like your last name or something?”

“Actually, his name isn’t really Cora at all,” Bellemere said.

“It’s just a nickname everyone uses. My real name is Rocinante,” Rocinante replied. He gave Nami a friendly smile. “Cora is much easier to say, isn’t it?”

Nami frowned. “Where the heck do you get Cora outta _that_ name?” she asked.

“Oh,” Bellemere spoke up again, eyeing Rocinante with a glint in her eye, “that’s quite the story there.”

Rocinante winced. “No...no, that’s okay, we don’t need to tell _that_ one,” he said, only to be promptly ignored when three sets of eyes widened and gave Bellemere their full attention. He let out a huff and looked away, taking a sip of water from his plastic bird cup.

“Well, kids, this is a story that takes me all the way back to when Cora and I first met,” Bellemere began. “It was ages ago now, I don’t even know how long. I was still a cop, and at the top of my game, too. When you needed something done, I was the one you called.”

Nojiko raised her hand. “Was this before or after the clown guy with all the guns?” she asked.

“Before,” Bellemere clarified, giving Rocinante an odd look when he inhaled some water, coughed, and then gave her a strange look.

“You told them about that?”

Bellemere shrugged. “Well, yeah,” she said. “I told them about lots of old adventures. It’s one of their favorite stories.”

She looked back toward the kids, eyeing the three of them, before smirking. Law was watching her intently, head resting in his hands. Rocinante knew immediately that he was probably going to ask Bellemere a slew of questions. He sighed. That goddamn clown heist story...

“Anyway,” Bellemere said. “So, one day I’m doing my thing, working on something or other--can’t really remember, I don’t think it was important--when suddenly, old man Sengoku approaches me. He says, ‘Hey Bellemere, I picked up some creepy guy while I was out. I think he’s doing bad things. Can you get some intel from him?’”

She paused, took a bite of her meal, and then continued.

“And I said, ‘Sure, why not?’ So he shows me into the room and I just see this scruffy, grimy, unshaven street kid in the ugliest clothes I’ve ever seen. Charred hat, jeans torn to bits, and this _nasty_ looking black feather coat.”

Law’s head popped up. “Black feather coat?” he repeated, looking at Rocinante. “I’ve seen one of those before.”

Bellemere turned to look at Rocinante. So did Nami and Nojiko.

“Do you _still_ have that thing, Cora?” Bellemere asked with a snicker.

“Hey, I don’t wear it or anything,” Rocinante countered. He poked at what was left of his peas and mashed potatoes with his fork. “It’s just...in storage.”

Bellemere rolled her eyes. “You have such a hard time parting with crap, I swear. Anyway,” she went on, “this kid’s hanging out at the table when I walk in and boy, he looks, no joke, like he’s sitting on a cactus.” Nami and Nojiko laughed to themselves while Law simply continued watching Rocinante. “He’s definitely not happy to be there at all whatsoever. And I know that this kid’s gonna be a tough nut to crack.”

Rocinante let out a quiet huff. Oh, yes, back then was a different time. He remembered having his feet on the table, chair tipped back in an arrogant posture when Bellemere walked in. She’d seemed so casual, and he thought he could out-stubborn her and escape.

Boy was he ever wrong.

“I lean on the table and I give him the whole shebang; good cop, bad cop, I talk a big game...and of course this guy thinks he’s hot stuff so he’s literally not saying _anything_.” Bellemere threw her hands up for emphasis. “He just sat there and stared at me with the same scowl like his face was stuck like that. He doesn’t give me his name or anything, so I came up with one.”

“See, that nasty old baseball cap he was wearing has this brand name on it; CORAZON. Some foreign company. So I say to him, ‘Hey, Corazon, why are you getting up to bad things, huh?’” She suddenly laughed. “Oh, he gave me the stink eye for that one. But boy, let me tell you, that name stuck even after he spilled what we needed to know two hours later.”

“Three,” Rocinante added. “It was three hours.”

“Regardless, it took way too long to get anything out of you,” Bellemere said. “And by the time we did, I liked calling you Corazon better anyhow.” She finished off what was left on her plate. “Then Smoker and Tashigi picked it up from me. Not sure if they’re even familiar with that story.”

She looked at Rocinante for confirmation. He shook his head. He hadn’t told either of them how he got involved with the police, how he somehow befriended their tough chief and even tougher top officer. And he wanted it to stay that way, at least for a while longer. As far as they needed to know, Corazon was some goofy name invented by Bellemere.

The last piece of broccoli disappeared from Nami’s plate and, once it did, she dropped her silverware carelessly and exclaimed, “Movie time now!”

“I got first pick!” Nojiko said, jumping from her chair to run to the living room.

“But Mooooom,” Nami whined. “I thought it was my turn! I got a whole bunch picked out already!”

“She asked if she could choose first and I said yes,” Bellemere said as she stacked their dirty plates on the table. “Besides, you got first pick last time. It’s only fair to let your sister have her turn, too.”

“Pff,” Nami snorted. She slipped under the table and went after Nojiko. “My choices are better…”

After the kids all shuffled away into the living room and the loud soundtrack to a movie began playing, Rocinante and Bellemere busied themselves in the kitchen with the dirty pots and pans and piled dishes. Bellemere took to scrubbing them in the fresh, hot soapy water in the sink while Rocinante dried them and put them away in the above cupboards.

“So,” Bellemere began, a small smile on her face as she scrubbed some dried sauce off of a dish, “how’re things with at ‘work’? You pick up on anything new?”

Rocinante said nothing for a moment too long as he dried the dishes she set in front of him. “It’s fine,” he said. “Nothing interesting to note.”

Bellemere paused and looked at him. “There’s always been something to talk about,” she pressed. “You’ve never not had a story to tell me from that backwater casino.”

“Really, it’s been quiet,” Rocinante insisted.

Though Rocinante continued on drying dishes, Bellemere ended up just staring at him, eyes narrowing. He felt himself sweat a bit; he could fool everyone else, but it was difficult to lie to Bellemere. She pointed to the door leading to the garage.

“Garage.”

“What?” Rocinante asked, eyebrows furrowing. She answered only by pointing at the door with more intensity. Rocinante set down a yellow dish and held his hands up. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

They marched out to the garage single file, making sure that the children didn't follow after. Once they were alone, Bellemere shut the door and gave Rocinante a long, hard look.

“What did you find?” Bellemere asked, crossing her arms. “And do _not_ lie to me this time.”

Rocinante stood there for a moment wordlessly. Bellemere stared at him patiently, and he knew that she would wait all night out in the garage with him if she had to. He sighed, looked away at some stacked orange crates, and slowly he began to talk.

“...Robin and I were scouting out a new lead,” he said. “It’s been going on for a while now, actually. Several months ago she spoke to me having found that Crocodile was meeting with someone at a certain time...We went after him once the time came, and--”

“ _And_?” Bellemere added.

Rocinante gave her a look, sighed, and then ran a hand through his hair. “It was Doflamingo,” he said.

The color drained from Bellemere’s face. Her eyes widened and she uncrossed her arms. “You’re joking,” she said. Rocinante shook his head slowly. “Fuck. What the hell is he doing in Alabasta?”

“I don’t know,” Rocinante said. “But I might be able to find out.”

“...Cora,” Bellemere began, her voice steady and stern. “How do you think he’s going to react when he sees you getting into his business yet again?”

“He wouldn’t try anything then and there,” Rocinante countered. “Not in broad daylight.”

“Don’t lie to me. This isn’t Buggy the goddamn Clown,” Bellemere snapped. She took a moment to breathe and then pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look. I know you’re getting really into this assignment, but the situation has _changed_. Get Sengoku to send someone else.”

“Absolutely not,” Rocinante responded with a frown. “Bellemere, nobody knows Doflamingo better than I do. If he sends someone else, they could die.”

“Like _you_ almost did?” Bellemere replied. He winced. “No matter who goes after him, there’s a risk. All of us cops know that. He’s not your average criminal, Cora. You’ve done your part, you’ve got the scars to prove it, and now I’m telling you: drop this case right now.”

“Bellemere,” Rocinante began, scowling.

“If you’re not going to do it for your own sake, then do it for Law,” she continued. “You’re not alone anymore, Cora. What’s he going to do if something happens to you?”

A tense silence filled the room. Rocinante looked away, avoiding Bellemere’s gaze to look at the concrete floor. The muffled sounds of the movie echoed through the walls. Law...if anything happened to him, what would become of Law? He’d already been through so much. Bellemere’s gaze softened a bit, and she sighed.

“Look, I’m not trying to be a hardass. I’m just worried sick about you,” she said. “I don’t want to lose my best friend. I also don’t want Law to lose the only family he’s got left.” She looked at him with concern. “Please, just think about it, alright?”

Rocinante looked at her for a long moment before he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll give it some thought.”

Bellemere gave him a small, worried smile and patted his shoulder. Rocinante offered her a tiny smile in return, though it was forced. She meant well, he knew, but at the moment it was just one more thing to worry about in the grand scheme of things.

Part of him wished he could say something about it--more than just the vague details, the things Bellemere managed to pick up on. He wondered, if he did tell her, if she’d understand and know what to do, what was the best call to make from here on out. But things were too delicate. There was the chance she might tell someone. And he couldn’t afford that.

“Hey. We should get back in there before someone notices,” Bellemere said, pulling him out of his thoughts. “We’re missing out on The Lion King.”

“...Right, yeah,” Rocinante said.

He followed after Bellemere, footsteps echoing against the concrete, went through the door, and switched off the light as he went inside.

 

* * *

 

For what seemed like ages, Rocinante stared down at the usual set of report paperwork. He mulled it over during dinner and had to convince Law that he was fine multiple times. He gnawed on the end of his pen as he contemplated what to do.

A report with a Joker sighting would bring every cop within one hundred miles to Rain Dinners. Sengoku would focus all his efforts on his capture. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that Doflamingo would flee at the first sign of an ambush. With Doflamingo lurking around there was also Law’s safety to consider. Though slim, there was still the possibility that Doflamingo might target him.

And Crocodile….no, he wasn't going to let his personal feelings get in the way of this. Not after he'd come this far. Whatever happened was bound to happen anyway. He knew it coming into this assignment. It was better to forget about it for now and deal with it later.

He filled out the report, sparing no detail about the secret rooms. But he conveniently left out that he had heard the unmistakable sound of Doflamingo’s voice. Sengoku wouldn't think twice about it; the new information alone would keep him occupied. And in the meantime, Rocinante would wait.

Doflamingo would be back, and he would be ready for him.


	21. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW I've been gone for a while...
> 
> My apologies, guys, I didn't mean to delay the fic this long. TL;DR problems left and right. I'm back for now.

Today Pearl would be spending her afternoon in a little plastic box down at the crocodile hut while Crocodile’s office became a crowded mess of furniture. The tank that Crocodile and Bon Clay had settled on was fairly large; two hundred gallons, custom made to suit Pearl’s needs. Bringing up alone would be a hassle, but there was also the matter of where to put it. The last tank they’d used was much smaller, only around eighty gallons, and the podium it rested on wouldn’t take the weight of the new tank. Nor would Crocodile be able to pass between it and the desk.

So, it was Rocinante’s job to help Crocodile figure out the best place to put it. And it didn’t help much that Crocodile himself was indecisive. He seemed to prefer the old location, but that required moving around most of the furniture. There were also three other good setups to choose from that Bon Clay had suggested.

Moving furniture was a pain. Rocinante wasn’t in any way built for carrying around heavy objects, not without tripping and falling, breaking the item, or dropping it on his toes—thank god Crocodile hadn’t been in the room to see him destroy his foot underneath the filing cabinet.

Luckily, the two delivery men who had brought the tank to Rain Dinners helped him shove the heavier things into a corner. Crocodile stood near the closet and watched them all judgmentally. Rocinante was determinedly not looking at him. It was hard to deny that things were still awkward between them after the incident. Rocinante was still hesitant about doing much around him and did what he could to give Crocodile his space. They hadn’t talked too much either since then, and Rocinante worried that Crocodile was suspicious again. That didn’t help matters any.

But as awkward as it was, Rocinante had decided that the best way to continue forward was to keep things the same. He’d continue this….thing he had going with Crocodile, pretend things were absolutely normal, until the situation with Doflamingo was dealt with. Which, truth be told, was what he’d rather do.

“Be careful with that desk!” Crocodile snapped, glaring at the two delivery men as they pushed it up a bit too close to the wall. “I don’t want to see a single scratch on it.”

There was plenty of space between it and the wall, Rocinante noted. Crocodile probably just didn’t want them in his space touching his personal things.

With the desk out of the way, the men shuffled out of the room to bring the wooden base inside. Rocinante paged through the different room layouts he had attached to a clipboard and then glanced up at Crocodile. Each page had a slightly different proposal. To Rocinante, most of them seemed fine. He didn’t really care so long as he wasn’t squeezing around corners to deal with the cleaning.

“I know you were adamant about putting it where it used to be, but, ah,” Rocinante paused to let the men and the quite frankly gigantic pedestal pass through the doorway. “As you can see…”

“It’s not going to fit there, is it,” Crocodile said, placing a hand on his chin.

Rocinante flipped to a certain diagram of the room with the furniture shuffled around. Crocodile looked at it over his shoulder. “Bon Clay had the idea to move it toward the front of the room. You’d have Pearl in plain view,” he said. “But it might obstruct the couch...”

“Those measurements don’t look right,” Crocodile said, eyebrows furrowing. “It’ll be in the way of the door.”

“Hmm…” Rocinante looked at the pedestal and then at the proposed area. It did seem like a tight fit at best. “Maybe somewhere else then.”

The men disappeared again, probably headed off to bring the glass itself upstairs, which left them alone in the room. Crocodile muttered something as he moved his potted plant around. Rocinante watched him carefully with the clipboard near to his face, pretending to go over the designs again and again.

There was something he’d been meaning to ask Crocodile, but he couldn’t quite find the words.  Sure, they weren’t exactly in a normal relationship by any means, but, he’d thought, it wouldn’t kill them to do normal things, would it?

Still, something about the idea was slightly terrifying.

“Hey, er,” Rocinante began, catching Crocodile’s gaze. “This is a bit off topic...but...I was thinking. About us, I mean, I was considering making some plans—not today I mean—I mean we’d make reservations or something, of course, or—”

“Get to the point, Rocinante,” Crocodile said gruffly.

“I—Well,” Rocinante said. “Would you want to go out again sometime? Like a date. You and me.”

Crocodile didn’t say anything to him, but his expression told him that he was at least curious about this prospect. That was probably a good sign right? He tugged at his shirt collar and looked away. Back in the day, it had been so easy to set up dates with Bellemere...Crocodile was in a whole different league altogether. He felt himself sweat as he realized he didn’t even know what kind of food Crocodile liked, or where he might like to go.

“With everything that’s been going on lately, I thought...well, I thought maybe we should sit down and talk,” he continued. “I know you’re probably concerned about my ties to Doflamingo. If it’ll alleviate some worries, I don’t mind talking more about it. I’ll tell you everything, if I need to.”

Which was a blatant lie, of course. Whatever he’d tell Crocodile wasn’t going to be the complete truth. Just enough to throw him off.

“Hmm...I’m a busy man,” Crocodile replied, turning away from him to tuck a few items into a cabinet.

“Ah, right.”

Of course. After all that, why would he want to waste his time with a lowly employee? Certainly, they’d had….something going on before, but it wasn’t like they were official. Rocinante bit back the urge to sigh, his plan having failed, and continued moving the lighter furniture out of the way, suddenly feeling quite disappointed.

“...However, I’m _less_ busy around eight o’clock in the evening next Sunday,” Crocodile suddenly said, catching Rocinante’s attention again. He turned back around to face him, and blinked in surprise.

“Oh?" Rocinante said.

Crocodile gave him a look. “I like Italian.”

“Eight o’clock next Sunday, Italian. Great!” Rocinante replied immediately, though it was more enthusiastic than he’d wanted.“I’m looking forward to it.”

Crocodile almost seemed nervous. Almost. “Before you get any ideas, I’m not going to respond to any ridiculous personal questions,” he said.

“We don’t have to talk about anything strange, I promise,” Rocinante said with a grin. “I’m curious about a few things myself, but they’re all within reason.”

The conversation was interrupted by a loud, shrill beeping sound. Crocodile glanced at his watch and pressed his lips in a fine line. Rocinante translated it as his “late for something time sensitive” face. He dropped the things he was holding onto the desk and quickly grabbed his coat off of the rack. Then, he felt his pockets, frowned, and then glanced around.

“Missing something?” Rocinante asked.

“My pen,” Crocodile said, focusing his attention on the golden crocodile that held said pen.

In preparation for moving the desk, Rocinante had put the pen holder away on top of the cabinets. Now there were several things blocking it, enough to make it troublesome to reach. Rocinante took the hint, set down his clipboard on the wooden tank display, and easily reached over the desk to grab it. Sometimes being obnoxiously tall had its benefits.

He placed it gently in Crocodile’s hand. Crocodile simply looked at him before he hurried out the door. Rocinante watched him leave without a word. He seemed...stressed, almost, and he wondered whether or not asking him out was what caused it.

Turning back toward the mess of an office, he let out a sigh. Now, with Crocodile gone, it was up to him to decide where the best place to put that monstrous pedestal was.

As Rocinante took some more measurements, jotting down the walls’ length and width, he began to consider the other issue he needed to deal with; Doflamingo. If his hunch was correct, Doflamingo wouldn’t risk another visit for at least a few weeks, perhaps on a random day. Crocodile surely would have tipped him off that someone had been listening...

He hadn’t brought up anything with Robin yet--in fact, she’d been very elusive as of late. He was considering a more covert capture, just him and Robin, which would keep him from fleeing at the first sign of a police raid. Though unfamiliar with the Alabastan police unit, he knew that Smoker and Tashigi were anything but quiet. It would be best not to tip them off until they had Doflamingo under control.

The door to the office creaked open. Rocinante stood up, still looking at the floor plans for the office. Had Crocodile forgotten something else in the chaos?

“Hey, I just had this idea: If we move the desk more to the right—maybe up against the wall, we could move the couch to the other side of the room--there should be plenty of space for the tank where you wanted it before,” Rocinante said, glancing at the space. “But you’re the one who’ll be working in here, not me. It’s your call.”

He turned around to face the doorway. His face paled.

It wasn’t Crocodile standing there.

It was Doflamingo.

His mind became blank, his throat dry and eyes fixated on his brother, who said nothing and did nothing. He was fully expecting this to happen. He knew Doflamingo would come back. But so soon? What was he even doing here, wandering the halls of the casino in broad daylight?

This wasn’t how he’d planned to handle things. He wasn’t ready to deal with this.

Doflamingo took a step further into the room. Rocinante immediately decided to flee behind Crocodile’s desk to put something between him and his brother as a safety measure. His heart was pounding and his hands were shaking. Why wasn’t Doflamingo saying anything? He was just...staring at him, mouth open in shock.

“Roci?” Doflamingo finally said. “Is that...is that really you?”

Rocinante said nothing, taking another step away from Doflamingo. His back brushed up against a set of filing cabinets lined up against the back wall. Doflamingo approached him slowly, carefully, clearly unsure of what he was seeing. Rocinante eyed the door, wondering whether or not it would be a good idea to make a run for it.

Doflamingo reached over to the desk and plucked a tissue from the box. Then he reached out—making Rocinante visibly flinch—and wiped at his face, smearing the red and blue face paint he’d applied. He shut his eyes. The touch was rough and it made his toes curl in displeasure. But as soon as he’d done it, Doflamingo drew back. Rocinante opened an eye to see him.

“It _is_ you, isn’t it,” Doflamingo said.

And then he did something unexpected: he grinned. It wasn’t sinister or sneaky, nor filled with anger—no, Doflamingo seemed _genuinely_ pleased.

There were various ways that Rocinante had pictured this confrontation; most of those involved either a gun or being on the other side of a prison cell. So it was a bit shocking when Doflamingo seized his shoulders and laughed in happy disbelief. Rocinante simply stared back at him, unsure of that to do.

The office door creaked as someone else entered the room and Rocinante felt strangely relieved to hear Crocodile’s voice.

“I thought I told you to stay the hell out of my—”

The moment Crocodile caught sight of Doflamingo with Rocinante, he went silent. The look on his face told Rocinante that Crocodile remembered not to say anything. The moment soon passed, and the expression was replaced with his usual sneer.

“Hey, Croco!” Doflamingo greeted him cheerfully. “Why didn’t you tell me my baby brother was here, huh? Fufufu…Have you been hiding him all this time?”

Crocodile side-eyed Rocinante, who returned with a frightened glance. Then, he looked away toward Doflamingo. “If I’d been hiding _anything_ from you I would have done a better job of it than this,” he replied.

“So this _isn’t_ why I’m not allowed to come up here?” Doflamingo asked. “Oh, c’mon Croco—I could’ve snuck up here nice and subtle like I did today.”

“You’re about as subtle as a neon sign,” Crocodile snapped. “And quit tormenting my employees. Family or not, we have business to take care of.”

Doflamingo seemed to be ignoring Crocodile, as he went on talking like he’d never even said anything. He seemed...almost pleasant. As if he was very happy to have discovered Rocinante in the depths of this shady casino. He talked on and on at Crocodile, telling him about how pleased he was to see that Rocinante was in good care—and Rocinante, though he said nothing, felt at that moment more like one of the crocodiles outside than anything else.

“Now this has been fun but...mind if I borrow my brother for a while?” Doflamingo said, still grinning. “There’s a lot we need to catch up on.”

It wasn’t a question. Doflamingo’s tone sounded friendly, but, as Rocinante knew all too well, it was very difficult to get a read on his brother’s true intentions. He watched Doflamingo’s face for anything, any sign that he might have something planned, but the glasses made it impossible to tell for sure.

Even if Crocodile wanted to respond, he wouldn’t have had time to. Doflamingo grabbed Rocinante by the upper arm and led him out the door. Rocinante glanced back into the room but Crocodile wasn’t looking at him. In other words, he was on his own. He mentally cursed himself for not at least tipping Robin off. But it was what it was. He would have to go this one alone, though that was nothing new.

Right. What was the plan now, then? He’d been expecting Doflamingo to take his time--he’d assumed Crocodile warned him not to show up so soon to throw off any suspicion. He was supposed to have time to figure this out. Now he couldn’t be sure how long Doflamingo would stay around, and there wasn't enough time to notify the Alabasta police or any of the officers at home. A perfect plan would have been to keep things low-key enough to surprise Doflamingo...no time for that now.

Perhaps if he and Doflamingo talked for long enough, he could stall until someone like Robin caught wind of the situation. He knew she was on her guard, and she would certainly be sneaking around the building.

The room that Doflamingo brought him to was one of Crocodile’s smaller conference rooms. In one of them sat a young girl with short green hair, who perhaps no older than seven, eating a bowl of grapes. Doflamingo walked over to her casually and for a moment, Rocinante’s hair stood on end. He opened his mouth to speak out against it...until the young girl excitedly reached out for Doflamingo. He picked her up and hugged her.

“Hey there, princess,” Doflamingo said, balancing the girl on his arm. “Are you having a good time?”

“Mhm!” she said with a nod. “Look at all the grapes I got!”

“That was awfully thoughtful of them,” Doflamingo replied, eyeing the grapes with an almost friendly smile. “Did you say thank you?”

“Yep!” She said. “I even said please, too!” She giggled when Doflamingo pat her on the head.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Now, how about you have Jora take you on a tour of the hotel, okay? Daddy’s got some business to take care of.”

She pouted at him, but nodded obediently. Doflamingo set her down and she scampered away with her little bowl of grapes. Once she was out of the room, Doflamingo closed the door.

Rocinante wasn’t sure what made him more uneasy; the fact that Doflamingo had a child of his own, or that he was now trapped in a small space with his homicidal brother. He decided to stand on the opposite side of the table to keep the distance between them. Doflamingo didn’t seem to notice; he was beside himself with happiness, so much so that it made Rocinante extremely uncomfortable.

“Fufufu,” Doffy chuckled. “I came here to talk with Croco but I didn’t expect to find some old memories floating around this dump.”

Rocinante didn’t say anything to him. He kept his gaze off of Doflamingo as he tried to calm his racing heart and shaking hands. The panic was only natural, but if he wanted to make it through this alive he’d need to calm himself enough to think clearly. Doflamingo chattered on, probably trying to make small talk, but Rocinante barely heard it. The pounding of blood in his ears overpowered even Doflamingo’s voice.

Eventually, he took a deep breath and managed to ask the only question on his mind.

“Why are you so pleased to see me?” Rocinante said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Why wouldn’t I be happy to see you?” Doflamingo said.

“I can think of several reasons, actually,” Rocinante replied, casting him a dark look. “Maybe there’s the fact that—”

Doflamingo raised a hand and stopped him. “Let’s not talk about past politics,” he said. “You’re my brother, Roci. I love you. I wasn’t expecting to see you again, but since we’re both here I’m willing to consider the idea of starting over—”

“You shot me,” Rocinante said. Doflamingo’s positive attitude faded in an instant. “You left me to bleed out in a ditch.”

“You gave me no choice!” Doflamingo pounded his fist on the table, making Rocinante visibly flinch. “You endangered my family, Roci. What the fuck was I supposed to do?” he said. “It was a choice between you, or all of them. Do you know hard that was for me?”

“It wasn’t hard for you when you shot our father,” Rocinante countered.

Doflamingo looked at him and, though his sunglasses shielded his eyes, Rocinante knew he was being glared at. “He was a sick, sad old man who was the reason you and I were separated. I have no regrets.”

Rocinante clenched his hands into fists. Doflamingo said it so casually, so _easily_ , it was sickening. No doubt what he said was true, but hearing it made it that much worse. When they were young, he remembered Doflamingo as being kind to him, always putting his needs first. Yes, he had been angry, too, but he never remembered Doflamingo as being completely horrible. Had that come about before or after he was adopted by his now large crime syndicate?

“I’m unarmed, alone. You know I’m a threat,” he said. “Why haven’t you eliminated me?”

Doflamingo’s smile returned. “Are you?” he said. “Sure, you caused a huge mess for me back then—a giant scandal even! I had to go so deep underground that for a while everyone thought I was dead! But I cleaned it up. I learned from your mistake, Roci.”

Doflamingo settled down in one of the chairs and gestured for Rocinante to do so as well. Rocinante hesitated, but settled down in a seat four chairs away from Doflamingo, across the table. His brother knitted his fingers together and rested his head on top of them. It was unnerving, his brother just staring at him like that. He had to look away.

“It was difficult,” Doflamingo continued on. “For years I wondered if I’d made the right choice. Shooting my own baby brother…” He stared at Rocinante. “I missed you so much, Roci.”

Rocinante narrowed his eyes. If Doflamingo was trying to sound sincere, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. He couldn’t tell whether or not his brother was actually lying or not, but it didn’t matter. He was seething. The fact that Doflamingo was even trying to talk to him like there was nothing wrong...like it had been the _right_ choice…

And what was all this about missing him? How could he just talk about this so casually, as if what happened between them was normal?

“It’s strange, finding you here with ol’ Croco,” Doflamingo said. “I mean, I wasn’t expecting to _ever_ see you again, but this...this really _is_ the last place I would have expected you to be, what with that little police gig you had going.” His mouth twitched into a grin. “...You’re not planning on tattling on him too, are you? Did Sengoku send you here?”

“I wanted a fresh start,” Rocinante said. “Somewhere that you wouldn’t be snooping around.”

Doflamingo laughed loudly. “Fufufu! You really expect me to believe that? I already know you’re a goddamned liar, Roci,” he said. “But, whatever. To be honest, I don’t really care too much what problems you cause with Crocodile. He’s pushing it with this great big eyesore anyhow.” Then, he paused to ponder something. “That said, he’s also not stupid.” He eyed Rocinante. “If he hasn’t caught on yet, you’re either not planning shit, or you’re doing a stupidly good job of keeping it from him. Which is it then, hm?”

Rocinante didn’t answer him. Doflamingo pushed back his chair and stood up, casting Rocinante another glance. Rocinante watched him apprehensively. From how he was acting, it didn’t appear that Doflamingo was going to make a move against him. It was...rather off-putting. Why was he choosing to place _any_ amount of trust in him after what he’d done?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Doflamingo said, gaze focused on the door. “I came to terms with what happened long ago. But with both of us still alive and kicking...I can’t help but wonder, wouldn’t it be nice if all this worked out?”

He pulled his glasses from his face, squinted through the lenses, and then moved to clean them with the edge of his shirt. Rocinante caught a quick glimpse of his scarred left eye before it was again obscured by the glasses.

“If I am to believe what you’ve said, then I’ll let you walk. We all make mistakes and don’t always get second chances,” he said. “But I’m warning you right now; take one step back into _my_ territory again, I can’t promise I’ll turn a blind eye.” He leaned over the table. “ _Don’t_ put me in that position, Roci.”

Doflamingo’s pocket buzzed. He reached into it, glanced at the phone, and then answered it. As he spoke, he pointed to the door with his chin, which was Rocinante’s sign to leave. Perhaps Doflamingo would find him again after this. He wasn’t sure whether or not to hope that was the case.

Rocinante quietly got up, walked to the door, and closed it behind him as if there was nothing wrong. People passed him in the hallway, giving him nothing more than casual glances. Maybe they didn’t know who was behind that door. Maybe they did, and they didn’t care. Regardless, he needed to leave. Now. His head told him to return to Crocodile’s office, to continue the little charade that everything was fine. His feet lead him through the halls and out the sliding glass doors of Rain Dinners.

His mind was a mess. He ran a hand through his hair as he paced back and forth, trying to decide what the best move from here was. Should he contact Sengoku right away? Should he phone Robin and ask her to create a distraction until the authorities could make a move? One wrong decision would send Doflamingo fleeing into the woodwork…

From his pocket, he withdrew his phone. Immediately he noticed that he had several missed calls from Law without any accompanying voicemail. Suddenly any worries about Doflamingo fled his mind.

He dialed the house phone number. It rang again and again with no answer, each time filling Rocinante with more dread. It wasn’t like Law to ignore his calls.

He’d have to explain to Crocodile later why he was bailing on work like this, but coming up with some family emergency excuse later wouldn’t be difficult--not that Crocodile was going to be happy to hear about it. Above all, Law was more important than whatever the hell his brother was going to do. There would always be another chance.

The drive home was probably some of the worst driving Rocinante had ever displayed. That he didn’t get chased down for speeding or nearly running down some pedestrian was a miracle in itself. He was too focused on Law, muttering to himself and hoping that he was simply overreacting, that Law was with a friend, or he’d gone out and forgotten to ask. It wasn’t terribly out of character for him to be a little rebellious, after all.

But, when he saw the front door ajar, his heart dropped. He stopped the car midway up the driveway and tripped over his own feet as he scrambled to the doorway.

“Law?!” He yelled into the house.

The inside the house seemed as if it had been raided. Their personal belongings littered the floor; papers scattered, one of the potted spider plants in a shattered dirty pile, dishes broken in the kitchen. There had been a significant struggle.

Rocinante followed it through the kitchen and living room—where the furniture had been shifted and upturned, perhaps to deflect an intruder. The furniture blurred as he looked at it. As he followed, his heart sped up. The trail ended just outside of Law’s bedroom, where the door had been kicked in. Law’s things were mostly untouched, save for the closet, which was a disheveled pile of clothes and shoe boxes. Whoever came in _only_ wanted Law.

“Shit,” he hissed. “ _Shit_ …”

He paced around outside Law’s room. He had to keep calm, and think about it rationally. Who would want Law, and who had the full knowledge of where he was? He and Law had been fairly quiet. The only people who even knew where they had been living now, well, he’d been very careful not to let that information leave the hands of trusted officials. As far as he knew, it was just the school system and the police station.

And it wasn’t like Law didn’t have enemies. It wouldn’t be difficult for Doflamingo’s goons to acquire that information if they really wanted it. Perhaps he could have slipped one of his lesser known members to scout for information...

His breath hitched. Law had once told him about the man with weird hair and sunglasses that had found him. At the time, Rocinante assumed it had been any random person under Doflamingo’s influence...but perhaps….what with Vergo’s appearance and mysterious behavior as of late...could it be?

If so, they were all in huge trouble.

Without a second thought he opened his phone and dialled Sengoku’s number. Assuming Vergo was one of Doflamingo’s goons, it was entirely possible that he was purposefully leading them in circles. It was possible that Vergo was feeding information back to Doflamingo so that he could stay one step ahead of their team. And, assuming he was in contact with Crocodile, there was the distinct possibility that he knew everything already.

“Dammit Sengoku, pick up your phone,” he hissed.

He dialled the number for the third time. The only response he got was an answering machine. With an irritated sigh, Rocinante decided to try Smoker instead.

“ _Yeah?_ ” Smoker answered.

“It’s Cora.”

“... _Wait, Cora?_ ” Smoker said, sounding perplexed. “ _Shouldn’t you be—?_ ”

“Smoker, where’s Sengoku?”

“ _Last I knew, he was out taking care of something_ ,” Smoker said. There was a pause before he said, “ _You sound out of breath. What’s going on?_ ”

Rocinante didn’t reply for a moment, looking around his destroyed house in a panic. He took in a deep breath and released it.

“We’ve got a problem.”


	22. Chapter 21

Finding Law in a city the size of Alabasta wouldn’t be easy. It didn’t help that Rocinante hadn’t the slightest clue where Vergo would take him--assuming the kidnapper _was_ indeed Vergo.

Smoker and Tashigi had appeared, along with two officers from the Alabasta Police Department, to help him work on determining exactly what had happened. Whoever had come in had been fairly clean; nothing taken except for Law. The two men had conversed with them for a short period of time before leaving--probably to go off and file a missing person report.

Rocinante sat at the kitchen table, his hands grasping fistfuls of his hair. His heart was still racing. Law was out there somewhere, terrified, alone with some strange man, and he could effectively do nothing. Neither Smoker nor Tashigi seemed to have any words of encouragement for him.

“Did Vergo say anything before he took off?” He asked. “Anything suspicious at all?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Tashigi said.

“This is ridiculous,” Smoker said angrily. “I should’ve done something about him.”

“What could you have done?” Rocinante said defeatedly. “Vergo acted so kindly toward all of us, who would have believed you?”

“But what would Vergo even want with Law?” Tashigi asked. “And--come to think of it, you never even mentioned Law around him, did you? Most of the time Vergo was out on assignment. How did he know about Law in the first place?”

“I don’t know,” Rocinante said. “I...I really don’t know.”

“I hate to say it but without any definitive proof we can’t place any blame on him,” Tashigi said. “No DNA matchups yet, no fingerprints...It’s going to be awfully difficult to pin the crime on anyone until anything conclusive comes back from the labs.”

Smoker sighed. “That kid’s been through enough shit already.”

Rocinante looked at him and then stared down at the table. Wasn’t that the truth. Law didn’t deserve any of this. And by the time anyone picked up any evidence, Law would be long gone, never to be found again.

This wasn’t an ordinary investigation either. Vergo was smart; he knew the ins and outs of police investigations. That meant he probably would have come in wearing gloves to avoid being caught via his fingerprints. He might have been careful not to leave any hair behind as well, though it was a stretch. Surely he would have cleaned up the place to throw him off?

He rested his elbows on the table. Was there anything he might have missed? Anything that might have given him direct evidence that Vergo had indeed broken in?

Suddenly, Rocinante brightened.

“What did Vergo eat for lunch today?” Both Tashigi and Smoker stared at him, eyebrows furrowed. He sighed, and elaborated, “Have either of you ever noticed that he’s always got something on his face?”

“...Oh! That’s right!” Tashigi held up a finger. “Someone brought in ham and swiss sandwiches for the entire staff today. Vergo helped himself to one before he left for the day.”

“Assuming that he ate on the way here, and _assuming_ a part of the sandwich became stuck to his face, do you think that it’s possible that it might have come off in the struggle?” He asked.

Tashigi nodded. “Absolutely.”

“So instead of looking for actual sound DNA evidence, you’re saying we should be looking for parts of a sandwich that aren’t s’posed to be there?” Smoker asked, eyebrows raising.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Smoker sat there for a moment before he shrugged, threw his hands up, and then walked off into the house. “I’ll start looking for lunch meat in the living room, then,” he said. “Yell if ya find anything.”

Rocinante left Tashigi on the ground floor while he went upstairs to look through the bedrooms. Everything was left just as he’d found it, save for a few things that had been picked up to be inspected for fingerprints.

He stepped carefully through Law’s room, scouring for anything he might have missed before. He was careful not to move anything as he looked around. When he picked up Law’s medical textbooks, he placed them right back down. Though he himself couldn’t see anything in the messy crime scene, someone else might. So far there wasn’t any food lying around save for what was left of a lunch Law had a couple days prior. And that didn’t even remotely look sandwich-like.

He eventually just sat down on the bed, looking over the floor of the room time and time again, trying to spot anything new. He came to the conclusion that there wasn’t anything in this room.

He left Law’s room with a heavy sigh and walked to his bedroom just down the hall. The door was open, but the interior looked clean. He shuffled around, eyeing the floor for anything abnormal. There were some bits of light colored hair, probably his own, but little else.

“Cora!” Tashigi called to him all of the sudden. “Cora, I think we found something!”

Rocinante immediately left the room and went back downstairs, to where Smoker was holding half a slice of ham between two fingers.

“Found this under the couch along with a stale piece of bread,” he said. “Can’t imagine a couple of gluten-free residents are going to be eating much of that.”

Rocinante fetched a paper plate from the cupboard and Smoker promptly dropped the meat onto it. They all stared at the neatly sliced piece of ham on the plate in front of them for a solid minute. Bits of bread were still stuck to it, as was a little white blob of, presumably, mayonnaise. Smoker reached down and dabbed his finger in it before bringing it to his mouth.

“Smoker! Don’t eat the evidence,” Tashigi scolded him.

“Yup. Spot on,” Smoker said. “The mayonnaise on those sandwiches tasted like shit.”

“So then,” Rocinante began. “We can safely assume that it was more likely that Vergo, with his ham and swiss with mayonnaise sandwich, came in and raided the house.”

Smoker scratched his head. “It’s a start, I guess,” he said. “But even if we do know who the culprit is, we don’t know _why_ he took Law in particular when there’s dozens of rich families in Alabasta with kids. Hell--Why not swipe Vivi for a handsome sum? Cobra would surely pay an arm and a leg to see her in one piece again.” He snorted. “‘Sides, the man’s dumb enough not to notice a damn criminal base of operations under his nose--”

Tashigi sighed. “Smoker, now is _really_ not the time,” she said.

“I’m just saying,” he said. “You’d think he’d want to be a little more into the Rain Dinners searches with how many lowlives go in and out of there on a daily basis. What if someone gets a bright idea, huh?”

Rocinante started to say something, but stopped himself.

Rain Dinners.

According to Law, Vergo was the one who brought him to Doflamingo. It was logical to believe that Vergo was therefore one of his underlings; perhaps he’d been undercover for the police even then.

And, assuming that Doflamingo did indeed want Law back, Vergo would surely take him to Doflamingo as soon as possible. Rocinante knew that Doflamingo probably wouldn’t risk being caught in the act in daylight. Which left Rain Dinners as a very possible temporary hideout until evening.

“...Actually, I think Smoker’s onto something,” Rocinante said.

“I...What?” Smoker replied, eyebrows raising. Then he frowned. “Cora, I get that a lot of scumbags go into that place daily, but you’ve said it yourself: the entire building’s covered with cameras. Plus, Vergo’s not stupid enough to go out in daylight. Nobody would miss a shady looking guy dragging a screaming kid behind him.”

“Maybe he didn’t use the front door,” Rocinante said.

“Yer sayin’ he hopped the fence,” Smoker began, “with said screaming kid in his hands.”

“That’s not what I--” Rocinante pinched the bridge of his nose. This...wasn’t how he wanted to disclose this information, but it was what it was. He took a deep breath and began to explain. “There’s--Not too long ago, I found this passage under the building. Assuming he had the permission to get inside, it’s likely that’s where he would have gone. I’ve heard it’s linked to the parking garage.”

“Don’t remember that in the report,” Smoker said, a suspicious undertone in his voice. “But, assuming it exists, that’s one hell of a secret entrance.

“Crocodile had Vergo’s contact information,” Tashigi added in. “That phone number. You don’t think he…?”

Smoker shook his head. “Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past that scumbag to go around stealing children, but that makes even less sense,” he said. “What the hell would _Croc_ want with Law?”

“He doesn’t want Law,” Rocinante said. “Vergo isn’t taking Law to Crocodile.” He crossed his arms and looked away. “He’s taking Law to Joker.”

A heavy silence washed over them. He could feel Tashigi and Smoker’s stares boring into his back. Tashigi muttered something that Rocinante didn’t quite catch. He heard Smoker approach him slowly.

“...Now hold on a minute,” Smoker said. He grabbed Rocinante by the shoulders and turned him around. “First there’s some secret shit hiding underneath the building, but now you’re telling me that _Joker’s_ in that fucking casino, too? When did that happen?”

“I...have reason to believe that he and Crocodile might be working together,” Rocinante said simply.

Smoker gave him a stern look before he shook his head in disbelief. Rocinante bit his tongue, now regretting having said anything at all. Of course Smoker wasn’t going to just accept that little piece of information and move on.

He ushered Rocinante to a chair and pushed him down into it.

“Cora, I don’t care what the hell you think you’re doing,” Smoker began, “but if you want our help, you’re going to tell us _right now_ what the hell’s going on here.”

Rocinante stared at them, noting how worried both of them looked. He could lie to them easily. Make up something on the fly. Or combine just enough facts with some tale he spun up. But to what end? How much further into this hole was he prepared to dig himself?

He set his hands in his lap, closed his eyes, and talked. He talked about things they already knew, and some things they didn’t. He mentioned the hidden area underneath the casino that both he, and apparently Robin too, had failed to mention. He talked about catching wind of Joker ahead of time. And, most importantly, he talked about meeting Joker face to face.

Their reactions were about as expected.

“He’s been here the whole damn time,” Smoker muttered, rubbing his forehead. “All this time we’ve been running around, busting our asses looking for scraps and he’s been here with _you_ .” He glared a little at Rocinante. “I cannot fucking believe you thought you could handle him _yourself_ , Cora.”

Tashigi reached for her phone. “I’ll alert the Alabasta--”

“No!” Rocinante shouted, startling Tashigi. He winced at his own tone. “No, no, if you alert the police, the uproar will tip him off and he’ll escape. We can’t risk him getting away after all this work.” Tashigi let her hand drop to her side.

“Plus, that’s exactly what Vergo’s expecting us to do,” Smoker chimed in. “All of us know the danger. It’s honestly stupid to go in there without reinforcements.”

There was no good solution to this, no foolproof plan. They all seemed to realize it. There was a danger in going in alone--one that Rocinante had been prepared to take before--and perhaps an even greater one should they notify Sengoku and the others of the situation. But Joker was still second to the real problem at hand.

“First and foremost we need to get Law back,” Rocinante said. “We need to figure out the best way to get him out of that situation as safely as possible.” He looked at them both before continuing. “It’s Crocodile’s base, I’m not suspicious. Let me go in there alone.”

“ _Hell_ no,” Smoker said immediately. “Cora, there’s a goddamn murderer running loose in there. Who knows what lowlifes he’s brought with him, too. I’m not sending you in there without at least one of us backing you up.”

“Even if Joker isn’t aware of who you are, Vergo knows,” Tashigi pointed out. “He might blow your cover.”

“I can handle Vergo,” Rocinante said. Smoker looked at him for a long moment. He scowled. “We’ve worked together for this long and you don’t think I can’t handle one rogue officer?”

“It’s not that!” Smoker said, shaking his head. “Cora, I don’t know if _I_ could handle Vergo, let alone anyone else. He’s been lying to us this whole time. I don’t think any one of us knows what he’s capable of.”

A valid point. Rocinante sighed through his nose. He wasn’t much of a fighter on a good day, let alone when stressed, panicked, or tired. Vergo would easily be able to overpowered him if he was caught off guard. He didn’t have the first idea where Vergo was in that place either. It was a wild goose chase.

“That’s a risk I’ll have to take,” Rocinante said.

 

* * *

 

The casino looked different in the dark. By day it had a gaudy sort of atmosphere with a hint of a dark underbelly, but at night it was lit up like a Christmas tree. Lights wired into patterns of palm trees and oases, crocodiles with snapping jaws eating golden coins. The bustle of the area grew at night, with even more people on the streets and inside the building. The allure of gambling seemed to increase.

Rocinante passed almost completely unnoticed in the crowds, save for a couple comments on his height. The day employees were replaced with the night shift, whom, Rocinante knew, couldn’t care less. He shuffled by them without much issue. Hours before this place had been almost comfortable. But now it was eerie to walk around freely like this. He was on edge, nerves sending him into almost paranoia.

Where was Vergo? And the more important question: had Vergo passed on any information about his betrayal?

He glided through the door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY and walked quickly down the halls, glancing as casually as he could manage into every open door. He saw plenty of familiar faces in each room, and none of them were the faces he was looking for. It was stupid to believe that Doflamingo would have stayed in the same place for several hours. He could only imagine where on earth he was now--

“Staying a bit late today, are we?”

Rocinante froze and turned on his heels. It was Robin, who was standing by a vending machine with a little package of pretzels in hand. She watched him with an amused but curious expression. He relaxed a bit, allowing his shoulders to droop.

“Oh, thank god,” he said. “I thought…”

“Fufufu. You thought I was someone else?” Robin replied. “Have you gone and gotten yourself in trouble with Crocodile again?”

“That’s not it.” Rocinante sighed. “I...I’m looking for Law.”

“Law?” Robin blinked in surprise. Catching onto the seriousness of the situation, her expression changed from playful to thoughtful in an instant. “What’s happened to him? He’s not lost is he?”

“He’s--I have reason to believe that he’s been kidnapped, and the culprit is hiding here,” Rocinante replied. “I don’t have time to get into the details. Have you seen anyone suspicious around here today?”

“There are plenty of men who fit that description.” Robin replied, much to Rocinante’s annoyance. Then, she cupped her cheek and thought for a moment. “Hmm…Actually, there was a strange commotion at the hotel earlier today.”

Rocinante perked up. “Where?”

“Fourth floor, I believe. Toward the far side, where the nicer suites are.”

After Rocinante nodded and turned to leave, she reached out to him.

“If I remember correctly, a singular party came in early this afternoon and rented out the rooms on that side of the hall,” she said, in a tone that specifically implied that something else was going on up there. “Be careful.”

He didn’t make any promises.

There was a little passage through to the hotel area from the casino usually reserved for the cleaning staff. He cut through it without being detected. Once inside the hotel, he took the stairwell at the back rather than the elevator, being extremely mindful of anyone else passing by. It was rather quiet. A couple elderly women and a family passed him by, but took no notice of him. There was no sign of Vergo or any of Doflamingo’s various henchmen. At least, not ones that he could recognize.

The hallway on the fourth level was dead silent.

Rocinante had to consciously walk quieter to avoid tipping off anyone to his approach. But as far as he could tell, there was simply nobody around. Not a sound came from any or the normal hotel rooms. He wondered if they’d all been reserved, too, for the sole purpose of keeping any prying eyes away from the floor.

Room 445, the second to last room on the floor, was located in a nook toward the end of the hall. Rocinante almost glanced over it before noticing that the door was propped open on the metal security guard. He halted in place. Someone had deliberately left that door open. It was deceivingly quiet. Nobody would be careless enough to leave the room perfectly open to intruders without expecting it.

But he had to take that chance.

He hesitated, looking around to be sure he was absolutely alone one final time, before he pushed the door open and went inside.


	23. Chapter 22

The door opened to reveal an empty room. But there were definite signs of activity.

The beds in the room were left unmade, with the blankets mostly on the floor and the pillows in misshapen heaps. Someone had left their things—including, but not limited to, several pieces of pink luggage, long pointy shoes, and an unfinished meal. It was hard to make any definite conclusions about who was staying there. But whoever it was would be back if they’d left the door like that.

He opened the closet doors. Two white coats and a number of button-ups were hanging there. Nothing unusual was on the floor or in the storage above. He made a loop around the room, checking drawers and the bedside table. Someone had stashed some snacks in it. He also found a Rain Dinners Hotel notepad with only the phrase, “The weather is nice in Dressrosa,” scrawled hastily on the top page.

Just as Rocinante turned around to check the bathroom, a thump came from it, which made him jump. Someone was still here.

He stepped to the side, shielding himself against the wall. More thumping. But the door didn’t open. Seconds ticked by. When it seemed like nobody was coming out, he looked over at the door. It was still closed. He stepped toward it cautiously, quietly, with the full intent to leap out of the way should anyone emerge.

When he was just inches away from the door, someone pounded on it five times.

“I _ know _   you’re out there!” A very familiar voice yelled.

“Law?” Rocinante answered. He reached out to touch the door. “Law, is that you in there?”

He heard Law gasp. 

“Mr. Cora!” He exclaimed.

“Thank god—Are you alright?” he asked, breathing a sigh of relief. He jiggled the doorknob, finding it stuck tight. “We need to get you out of here right now. Can you open the door?”

He heard Law slide several heavy things across the tile and wondered if he’d barricaded himself in there. Seconds later, the door was unlocked. Law peeked out, as if he was unsure of himself, before he flung himself at Rocinante, who grabbed him with the full intent of never letting go.  

“You’re alright,” he said. “You’re okay, you’re fine...I was so worried they’d taken you out of town.”

Law held him for a moment longer before he suddenly wriggled out of his grip and pushed Rocinante back. He stared at him with wide, alarmed eyes. Rocinante watched him, perplexed, as Law wrung his hands together and looked around them wildly.

“What are you  _ doing _ here?” Law asked. 

“What do you mean? I’m here to take you back home,” Rocinante said, furrowing his eyebrows.

Law took him by the wrist and started for the door. “No, no, no—We gotta get out of here—It’s dangerous, what if he—?”

“Slow down, Law,” Rocinante said. “What’s wrong? Who are you talking about?”

Law pulled him to the door. Just as he was about to grasp the knob, it opened on its own. He gasped and jumped back, spreading his arms to defend Rocinante.

There was Vergo with a hotel key stuck to his cheek.

“Vergo,” Law hissed.

“Nice to see that you’ve finally come out of the bathroom,” Vergo said. “It was starting to become a pain to use the restrooms by the pool.”

When he made eye contact with Rocinante, his entire demeanor changed.

“ _ You _ .”

Vergo swatted Law out of the way effortlessly. Law yelped as he hit the wall. Then, Vergo punched Rocinante in the stomach. The force alone sent him flying back against the desk. Rocinante held his face, shocked.  He dodged the second hit. And the third. Though taller, he was much more nimble than Vergo. But then he stumbled over a chair, which had him grasping for something, and he sent the lamp toppling to the floor with him. He put the chair between himself as he scrambled to get away. Vergo effortlessly tossed it aside.

Still shaking and wobbly from anxiety, Rocinante was simply no match for Vergo’s brute strength. He was anchored in place securely under the heel of Vergo’s boot. He gasped out a breath as he was crushed into the carpeting. 

“A few days ago, Doffy called me, says something about a possible loose end,” Vergo said. “I figured things were alright...until I caught  _ you _ leaving the building.”

“Let Law go,” Rocinante breathed. “He hasn’t done anything—!”

Vergo ignored him. “I have to hand it to Sengoku, he certainly did an excellent job keeping your identity quiet.” He looked down at Rocinante. “I’ll bet he thought you were his secret weapon, in case he ever wanted a second go at weakening us.” He ground his heel into his back. “I guess this is his second go, isn’t it?”

As Rocinante caught his breath, he heard Law leap into action.

“Leave him alone!” Law yelled as he beat on Vergo’s leg. “Stop it, Vergo!”

“I don’t appreciate that tone, Law,” Vergo said. “You ought to be more respectful to me.”

He turned to face Law. The distraction was enough. Vergo’s force weakened, Rocinante turned himself over, removing the boot. He twisted Vergo’s legs up, which caused him to topple over to the ground in a heap. Rocinante surged up. He grabbed Law under his arm and raced for the door. Vergo would be up again in seconds. 

Get away. They had to get away  _ now _ .

He raced down the hall, past various people, without a care for who saw them. It didn’t matter. He hurried for the stairs. The elevator would leave them trapped. 

He stumbled over his own feet, white-hot fear blinding him. By the time they got to the first floor, Rocinante was exhausted.. They left the stairwell and escaped into a small nook with an ice machine. Rocinante dropped Law and collapsed against the wall, panting and shaking.

“God,” he said between breaths. “This is bad…”

Law watched the doorway, looking both directions.

“I don’t see him,” he said. “Vergo’s gone, I don’t think he’s found us yet—”

Rocinante grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around. “Law,” he said. “Law, you need to get out of here. Right now.”

“R-Right,” Law said. Then, he lit up. “Oh, yeah, I can lure him away from you! That way, you can—”

“ _ No _ , Law,” Rocinante looked him dead in the eye. “ _ I’m _ going to lure Vergo away from  _ you _ , and  _ you’re _ going to go find Smoker and Tashigi.”

Law was taken aback. He looked around himself, at the door, at the vending machines that hummed all too loudly. Then he stared back at Rocinante with fear in his eyes.

“But…” he said. “But it’s me that they’re after, why would they want you?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Vergo came and found me, not you! You shouldn’t have to—”

Rocinante leaned up against the wall, still trying to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and covered them with his hand.

“I told you before, didn’t I?” He said. “I worked undercover to gain intel on The Family. I told you that I escaped unscathed.” He turned away. “There’s more to it than that.”

“Wh...what do you mean?”

Rocinante sighed.

“I’m Joker’s brother by blood.”

He heard Law’s breath hitch and he took two steps back, away from Rocinante. Law said something inaudible. Rocinante squeezed his eyes shut.  He couldn’t expect Law to forgive him for keeping it from him, not after all this time. It was too much.

“So what?!”

Rocinante opened his eyes. Law clenched his fists and stared up at him with watery eyes.

“Who  _ cares _ who you’re related to?” He said. “You’re still Mr. Cora and you still saved me! I don’t care!” He shook his head wildly. “And—And if that means Joker wants to kill both of us, then I don’t want either of us to get caught!”

Rocinante stared at Law, speechless.

“You’re going to stop him this time,” Law continued. “ _ We’re _ going to stop him this time.”

Rocinante offered him a small smile and a quiet laugh. He pushed off from the wall and walked back to the entryway. It was still quiet. Nobody had seen them. Nobody was coming. They had time to think for a moment. He drummed on his chin as he tried to decide on the best course of action. Rain Dinners was a maze, but there were plenty of exits. Assuming they could reach one and get out on the streets….

He left the safety of the room to look down the hall. One of them could take the employee route, and the other could look for an escape route through the hotel area. Smoker and Tashigi were less than a block away, waiting for a sign to leap into action. All it took was either one of them coming into view.

“We need to split up,” Rocinante said. “Whoever gets to Smoker and Tashigi first can sound the alarm. The Alabasta Police Department is just minutes away, It’ll be all over for Joker.”

Though reluctant, Law nodded and ran down the corridor. Rocinante watched him before he went down the opposite hallway, the one that he knew led back into the offices. Vergo wouldn’t suspect him to go straight into the line of danger. That gave him a bit of an edge.

He ran until he found the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign on a door, and then he slowed down. Once inside, he stopped to catch his breath again. His legs were trembling something awful. His hands, too. That he hadn’t died falling down the stairs was a miracle. He was no good at being chased, never was. Law’s youthful stamina would give him the edge, but if Vergo caught up to Rocinante…

No, it wasn’t the time to think about that. He continued walking, trying to mask his need for air by breathing through his nose instead. It left him a bit lightheaded. 

The silence was twice as unnerving. Robin was gone, as was everyone else. It was almost as if someone had given the word to make everyone leave. He looked around, making sure to be ready from all angles in case someone jumped out at him.

“You!”

Upon hearing Crocodile’s voice, Rocinante stopped dead in his tracks. He turned around slowly to see him standing near the end of the hall, looking to be in a very foul mood...and it only just occurred to him that he’d bailed on work earlier that day. Inwardly he cursed, and he put a hand to his head.

“Agh, right, Pearl—I’m so sorry, there was a family emergency, I had to—”

Crocodile stomped over to him and got right up in his face with an accusatory finger.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, taking time off without saying anything?” Crocodile snapped. “You think you can just come and go as you please? I ought to fire you for that.” He seethed for a moment, giving Rocinante a nasty scowl. “After that stunt Doflamingo pulled, I had half a mind to go searching for a damn  _ body _ in the stomachs of my animals.”

Rocinante blinked. All other thoughts faded from his mind for but a moment.

Had Crocodile...been  _ worried _ about him?

“I...I’m alright,” Rocinante assured him. “Doffy didn’t do anything to me. We just...talked. I’m fine.”

“Clearly,” Crocodile grumbled.

He folded his arms and let out a huff. Rocinante offered him an awkward smile. Then, he frowned again and glanced back to where he’d come from. Vergo was still on the loose. Maybe...if he convinced Crocodile to go back to his office, he might be able to stay there long enough to phone Smoker—

“Mr. Cora!” 

Both Rocinante and Crocodile looked to see Law racing towards them. He grabbed a hold of Rocinante’s pant leg and tugged it. He looked behind him and when Rocinante followed his gaze, he caught the sight of two children standing at the far side of the hall; a girl with a yellow bow in her hair and a much larger boy in overalls. Rocinante recognized him immediately. Buffalo. The girl was probably Baby 5 then.

“Traitor!” Baby 5 yelled. “Law, you’re a blood traitor!”

“The other way was a trap! We gotta go right now!” Law said. “They’ll lead everyone right to us!”

“...That boy of yours...” Crocodile muttered. Law looked at him, eyes narrowing with distrust. “Where do I know you from?”

He glanced between Law and Rocinante, trying to call back some buried memory. As Crocodile was about to pass it off as nothing, some memory of a child he’d seen on the street perhaps, Rocinante could see the exact moment where he made the connection. His eyes widened as he looked up at Rocinante.

“Mr. Cora,” Crocodile said. “Officer Cora.  _ You’re _ Officer  _ Corazon _ .”

Rocinante opened his mouth, but he was speechless. 

No. No, no, no. He wasn’t supposed to find out like this. Not here, not now. Not in the middle of everything. He stepped away from Crocodile with his hands out in front of him, fully expecting an attack. But Crocodile simply stood there, speechless. The silence was unnerving. Why wasn’t Crocodile yelling at him?

“I-It’s not—” Rocinante began.

But it was, wasn’t it? It was exactly what it looked like.

Crocodile’s eyes narrowed into that icy cold hard gaze. That look in Crocodile’s eyes said it all. He’d given him that second chance, that  _ sliver _ of trust, and Rocinante had thrown it away. He jerked his head away to glare at the wall before he shut his eyes. Rocinante reached out to him.

“Crocodile—”

“ **_Leave_ ** .”

Crocodile’s tone was venomous. He still wasn’t looking at him, clenching and unclenching his fist. Rocinante’s head was filled with static. Law’s grip on him increased and Rocinante allowed himself to be pulled along. 

He stared back at as they left. Crocodile didn’t move

“...I’m so sorry,” he whispered, even though Crocodile couldn’t hear him.

They exited through the back door, the one that lead out into the menagerie. The palm trees had been lit up with fairy lights, which helped against the darkness. But there were no keepers, and as they passed through, he noticed something odd; all the animals had been brought inside. He exhaled. A cloud of steam came out.

“It’s...cold?” he said.

“It’s not just cold,” Law said. “It’s _ snowing _ .”

They looked up. Tiny white flakes were falling from the sky. Rocinante wasn’t aware that it was possible for it to snow in Alabasta. There was a thin layer of it on the ground, just enough for it to appear lighter. Rocinante looked down. It was faint, but he could see the distinct outlines of their footprints on the concrete.

“We need to move,” he said. “The snow is going to leave tracks behind.”

The main gates were locked up tight, but there was a little door behind the crocodile hut for employees to come in through. Rocinante dug around for his keys and unlocked it with ease. They were in the home stretch now. The noise from Rain Dinners masked the crunching of icy snow under their feet. They snuck down a narrow alleyway.

“Where are Smoker and Tashigi?” Law whispered.

“I have them waiting in a restaurant not far from here,” Rocinante answered. “It’s got a large window in the front so they could spot us in seconds.”

“So we just gotta get out onto the street,” Law said. “It’s right up there, isn’t it? We’re so close! We can make it!”

Up ahead, the street was lined with cars. They weren’t much cover, but it’d be enough to avoid being seen. Rocinante slowly, cautiously walked along the sidewalk, occasionally peeking over the roof of the cars. Running might draw attention. They couldn’t afford that, not when they were so close now.

Law grabbed his shirt.

“Mr. Cora, get  _ down _ ,” he hissed.

Rocinante wondered what Law was doing until an elderly man walked out onto the street. Rocinante’s eyes widened. He was dressed in plain clothes, but there was no doubt in his mind that it was Lao G, another of Doflamingo’s many, many underlings, out patrolling for anything amiss. 

They ducked down between two of the cars and snuck away just as he passed by unknowingly. They continued to move along slowly, quietly so as to not tip him off. The faint glow of streetlights in the distance was ushering them closer. 

Just a little more...

As he was about to turn to Law and make a comment, there was a light on them.

“There they are!” Someone yelled.

“Law, run!” Rocinante called. “ _ Run _ !”

He held up a hand to block the light from his face as he blindly ran off in another direction. He made a beeline for a small offshoot street. It would do. He raced into it all the while telling Law to “Keep going,” and “We need to go faster!”

It occurred to him that there wasn’t a second set of footsteps alongside him. Rocinante stopped running. Law wasn’t at his side. Nor was he behind him.

“Law?!” Rocinante called out. “Law, where are you?”

No answer.

A bullet tore through his shoulder. He let out a pained yell and grabbed the spot. Blood oozed out onto his shirt. But he didn’t stop running. He looked around for where the attacker had fired from. There were too many hiding places, too many spots for anyone to be lurking in the dark.

A second bullet passed just over his head. He looked back. Covered face, spiky hair, long coat. Gladius. Rocinante swore under his breath and turned a sharp corner as Gladius fired three more rounds.

“Get out here you filthy traitor!” Gladius yelled. “You’ll  _ stay _ dead this time!”

He blindly ran as fast as he could. His chest was on fire and muscles were burning. Once Gladius’ shouts were out of range, he slowed to a more reasonable pace. Alabasta was an old town and every narrow street looked the same. He didn’t know where he’d come from or where he needed to go now. He stumbled out into an open stretch of road. The main road was visible, with the streetlights paving the way. He grinned a bit. So close. He was so close. 

A shot went off. Something grazed his throat. 

He inhaled sharply and regretted it as the pain shocked him. He covered the wound with his hand. There was a sizable chunk of flesh missing. 

“Damn,” came Doflamingo’s voice. “I  _ missed _ .”

He turned to see Doflamingo and two of his high-ranking officers standing there. Doflamingo let the hand with the gun drop to his side.

“Behehe…How’d you miss?” Trebol asked. “He’s right there!”

“Lousy cheap handgun, that’s how,” Diamante added in. He stepped forward, reaching for a dagger he had at his side. “Let me finish him off, Doffy. This filthy worm isn’t even worth your time.”

But all Doflamingo had to do was raise a hand to make Diamante fall back in line. Rocinante panted heavily, struggling to get enough air. There was no good way out of this situation. He didn’t have the strength to run anymore--not that there was anywhere to run to at this point.

But there was still hope, he thought. He didn’t see Law within the ranks. Perhaps…if he was able to make it—

“Put me  _ down _ !”

Rocinante’s eyes widened as he heard Law scream. Vergo walked into the clearing with a flailing Law in his arms. He stopped in front of Doflamingo, which silenced Law. As Doflamingo approached with a grin, Law stared him down fearlessly.

“Fufufu...Gee, Law, you sure are a slippery one, aren’t you? I knew you were something special when we found you,” Doflamingo said before his expression changed to look more serious. “What did you think you were doing, anyway? A little boy like you shouldn’t run away from his family.”

“You’re no family of mine!” Law shouted in his face.

Doflamingo was quiet for a moment. He adjusted his glasses. 

“We took you in, fed you, cared for you, got you whatever you liked, taught you to defend yourself…” he trailed off. “And you repaid us by running away and tattling? That wasn’t very kind of you.”

Law said nothing. Doflamingo knelt down to look him dead in the eye. 

“How much do they know?”

“Everything!” Law spat. “I told them everything!”

Doflamingo reached out and grabbed Law’s face. Law flinched. “Oh, Law...you’re still so young,” Doflamingo mused. “You have yet to learn how the world works.” He released Law from his grip and turned away, back toward Rocinante. “I’d say a little lesson is in order, don’t you think?”

When Law’s eyes fell upon him, he stopped struggling. Rocinante saw his mouth move, but didn’t hear anything come out. Law’s eyes widened.

Rocinante swayed on his feet. The blood loss was getting to him. He struggled to keep himself up for a bit longer before he dropped to his knees. Doflamingo stepped closer, his footfalls crunching the fresh snow softly. Rocinante just looked up at Doflamingo, hand clutching his gushing throat wound as he gasped for air. Doflamingo looked at him with a scowl on his face. His glasses hid any true emotion.

“Leave him alone!” Law yelled as he thrashed and kicked and beat his small fists on Vergo. He looked at Rocinante with tears in his eyes. “Dad! Dad, run away!”

Rocinante stared back at Law, frozen in shock. His limbs shook too violently for him to pull himself even into a seated position. He sputtered and coughed as he inhaled more blood. Doflamingo squatted down beside his dying brother. Rocinante barely had enough strength to glare back at him, all the while wheezing pathetically.

“ _ No! _ ” Law shrieked. “Don’t kill him!  _ Please _ !”

“I suppose after you adopted that brat I became his uncle by default, didn’t I?” Doflamingo said softly. “Fufu….don’t worry, Roci. I’ll take great care of Law for you.”

Rocinante tried to respond, but all that came out was a pained sound and a bit of gurgling. The sharp, metallic tang of blood leaked into his mouth. He spat it out.

“It’s a fitting end for you,” Doflamingo said. “Drowning in your own blood.”

A loud, echoing siren cut through the air.

Doflamingo’s face fell. Rocinante managed to smile through the pain. Someone had heard the gunshots. Someone had tipped off the police. Doflamingo quickly got up, forgetting Rocinante for the moment, and hurried over to Vergo and the others.

“Get Law and the other kids out of here now!” he ordered. “Find everyone else--nobody gets caught!”

Diamante and Trebol rushed away back down the road, to where Rocinante assumed Rain Dinners was. He laid on the ground in a heap, watching Doflamingo talk to Vergo. Law was staring at him, sniveling, yelling something completely unintelligible. 

“What about him?” Vergo asked, gesturing toward Rocinante.

“At this rate he’ll be dead before they can get to him,” Doflamingo said. “Get everyone to safety first. We’ll get rid of the body later.”

As Vergo turned to leave, Law struggled harder. Rocinante couldn’t do anything but watch. He and Law made eye contact once more before he disappeared. Rocinante weakly raised an arm. He was powerless to stop anything. Doflamingo regarded him with one last look before he, too, took his leave.

He was right. Rocinante pulled his hand away from his throat and looked at it. It was stained a deep red. It was too late for him. The sirens warped in his ears. He blinked rapidly, taking slow raspy breaths and broke into a coughing fit as the blood seeped down his throat and into his lungs. Too tired to even move, he simply laid in the alley and stared up at the telephone wires above. Several vague, dark shapes of birds were resting on them.

Even if he was useless, there was still time for someone else to rescue Law. Smoker could stand up to Vergo. Any of the Alabasta officers could surely…he felt himself fading and he shook himself out of it. No…not yet.

There was still time.

There was still—


	24. Intermission

It was so quiet.

Bellemere had been in waiting rooms more times than she could remember; usually for doctors appointments for Nami and Nojiko and other non-critical reasons, of course. They were usually noisy; small children talking or crying, older people talking among themselves, the lively sound of cartoons or the news playing on the small television screens.

But here in the middle of the night in this Alabasta hospital, it was eerily silent. Every click from the computer at the reception desk could be heard throughout the room. Bellemere fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.

When she’d gotten the call, she could’ve sworn that her heart stopped for a moment. There had been an altercation--that’s how it’d been worded. Something happened, there were gunshots, Cora was down and he was immediately rushed to the hospital. She came out as quickly as she could, and even then they’d still been working on him. But they told her nothing about the details. She was in the dark.

The soft echo of footsteps drew her attention. A middle aged woman in hospital scrubs appeared from the hall. She approached Bellemere.

“Are you Donquixote Rocinante’s emergency contact?” She asked Bellemere.

“Yes, that’s me,” Bellemere replied. Then, she swallowed thickly and asked, “Is he—He’s not—?”

“He’s stable,” the nurse replied.

Bellemere sighed in relief. “Thank god,” she breathed. “Is it alright if I see him?”

“You can now,” the nurse said. “Follow me.”

The nurse led her back into the hospital and into the emergency wing. Even this late at night, it was bustling with staff and visitors alike. Bellemere glanced at the rooms as they passed. The people she could see looked the worse for wear, and it had her stomach in knots.

How bad would Cora look? Was he even conscious?

The nurse slowed to a stop in front of a room in the middle of the hallway. Bellemere glanced at her and then, with a deep breath, opened the door. The room was filled with machines. She flinched. While she hadn’t been expecting some picturesque hospital room with warm colored walls and flowers by the bedside, this atmosphere felt so cold and sterile.

This wasn’t the first time she’d seen Cora in a hospital gown, coated in bandages, with his skin pasty and hair still slightly matted with blood. Bullet wounds were always nasty, but with the right help fast enough, Cora had come through. It wasn’t a swift recovery, but he came through nonetheless. She could still remember his stupid grin and the ridiculous things he’d said the day after he’d gone and scared everyone half to death.

That was what she’d expected. But Cora remained motionless. The heart monitor told her that he was still alive, if only barely.

He was a deathly pale color. Bandages peeked out from under his freshly changed shirt and an IV was planted in his wrist. But it was the tubes that came as the biggest shock. They went in through his nose and covered his mouth, tunneled through his neck--oh, god, his _neck_ …

“What….what happened to him?” She whispered.

“I don’t know the full details, but I do know that a stray bullet tore right through his throat. It’s a miracle he pulled through,” the nurse said. “He was barely alive when he was found, and he went under twice.”

“God, Cora,” she whispered, putting a hand to her mouth. “What did you do…”

She slowly went to his side and sat down in the provided chair. Cora didn’t react. His chest slowly rose and fell as air circulated through the tubes. As she reached out to touch his hand, she shrunk back. It was so pale. She hesitantly took a hold of his fingers. They were cold to the touch. She let out a long, relieved sigh.

Even if he looked like a damn corpse, even if the machines were probably the only thing keeping him alive...he was still okay.

“When do you think he’ll wake up?” She asked.

The nurse gave her a sympathetic look. “We’re...not entirely sure,” she said. “It’s not all bad, though. It’ll help the wound heal faster if he doesn’t disturb it. He’s already on the way to a swift recovery.”

She was trying to be encouraging, Bellemere knew. But they both knew how awful Cora looked; he wasn’t going to be up and walking around for a while. And he wasn’t out of the woods yet. It’d only been a few hours, there was still so much that could still go wrong.

Plenty had already gone wrong.

“...Do you mind if I have a moment alone with him?” Bellemere asked.

The nurse smiled a little and nodded. She left and closed the door behind her softly. Now alone, Bellemere whipped her head back around and glared at Cora.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, you idiot?” She hissed. “I told you, didn’t I? I told you to report back immediately—God, what were you _thinking_ going in there all by yourself? He could’ve torn you limb from limb!”

Cora said nothing. Of course he said nothing.

She clenched and relaxed her hand several times and bit her lip as she tried to come up with something else to say. She wanted to yell at him. God knows he deserved it after pulling that stupid stunt. She wanted to smack him. She glared at him a moment longer before her shoulders drooped and she stared down at the blue tiles on the floor.

She should have been there. He needed a partner. If only she’d been there with him, maybe things would have been--She closed her eyes.

“...I’m going to find him,” Bellemere said, her tone deathly serious. “I’m going to find him and destroy him. He is _not_ getting away with this.”

She carefully placed Cora’s hand back at his side. The heart monitor beeped.

 

* * *

 

Bellemere stormed into the station, throwing the doors open wide. A few officers watched her as she strode right on past the desk and into the back. They either recognized her or knew to leave her well enough alone. Smart.

She looked through three rooms before finally finding the office where Smoker and Tashigi were sitting. As she stormed in, Smoker looked up at her and frowned.

“You’re not supposed to be—” he began, though it was rather weak.

“Don’t even start,” Bellemere said. She smacked her hands down on the desk. “What the hell happened out there, Smoker?”

“Regulations—”

Bellemere looked him dead in the eye. “I don’t give a single fuck about regulation bullshit,” she said. “My best friend almost died the other night and now he’s in a goddamn _coma_ because someone _blasted his throat out_!” She pressed her lips into a fine line. “If you don’t tell me right now what’s going on, I can, and will, tear up this station until I find out.”

Smoker furrowed his eyebrows at her, seeming ready to be just as stubborn as she was for however long it took. They stared at each other before Smoker eventually looked away defeatedly and crossed his arms.

“...The runnin’ theory is that while Cora was getting Law out, he ran straight into Joker,” he said. “Or one of his minions. Turns out there was a whole nest of ‘em hiding in there. Cora decided not to tell us until last minute.”

Bellemere sighed. “Sounds just like him,” she muttered. “What about Law?”

Smoker shook his head. “We couldn’t find him anywhere,” he said. “We’re not even sure if Cora found him to begin with.”

Bellemere backed off from the desk and took to leaning up against a set of filing cabinets. This was ridiculous. How could they have been in such disarray during what had to be one of the most crucial moments of the Joker case? She pinched the bridge of her nose. She new that Cora was prone to making bad decisions once he set his mind to something but this...this was beyond her comprehension.

“And I’m sure the story of how Law got involved is also classified?” She asked.

“Technically,” Smoker said. “But it’d take too long to get into. I can tell you about it later. That’s Joker related too.”

“But it’s possible that Crocodile may have had a hand in all of this,” Tashigi added in. “He was spotted on the premises with Cora by several witnesses. But he fled shortly before the raid began and hasn’t been seen since.” She frowned. “It certainly seems suspicious…”

Smoker gripped the pen he was holding until it started to bend.

“If I find out that bastard did _anything_ to Cora, I’ll kill him on the spot,” he said.

“Yeah? Well you’ll have to settle for whatever’s left after _I_ get done with him,” Bellemere said.

Tashigi eyed both of them with a disapproving frown. She placed her hands on her hips.

“I understand that this is a difficult situation but it won’t do for either of you to go rampaging on revenge quests,” she said. “We’re working with largely circumstantial evidence and until we find something definitive, we can’t go pointing fingers.”

Both Smoker and Bellemere glanced at Tashigi before they looked away. It wasn’t right to go assuming things, Bellemere knew that very well. But it was easy to see how Cora may have slipped up, been careless enough to expose himself, and then Crocodile could have easily set Doflamingo on him...She glanced at Smoker, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He ran a hand through his hair.

“I just wish we had some witnesses,” he said. “How can Cora get shot somewhere with that many people around and not be seen by _anyone_?” He shook his head and looked down at the papers on his desk. “Countless people heard the gunshots, but nobody saw ‘em happen.”

“Once Cora is awake, he can tell us everything,” Bellemere replied, crossing her arms.

Smoker gave her a tired look. “Bellemere. You saw his condition. We all did,” he began. “It’ll take months to fully recover from those injuries, and that’s bein’ _generous_. Assuming he doesn’t—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Bellemere snapped. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” She clenched her fist. “Cora is alive and he’s going to make it through this just fine. He _has_ to.”

But she couldn’t deny that Smoker had a point. Cora was only just clinging to life. They couldn’t rely on him alone for evidence, nor could they afford to sit and wait for him to miraculously awaken from a coma. It was possible that they could lose him altogether. Her throat tightened and she choked. Smoker wasn’t looking at her, staring determinedly down at his desk instead. Tashigi offered her a small, sympathetic smile and gently put a hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head. No, she couldn’t linger on those kinds of thoughts. Cora was going to be fine. He was stable. The only thing she could do for him now was keep moving forward. Find Joker. Track down Vergo’s whereabouts. Bring Law home.

She took a moment to regain her composure and looked at both of them.

“So, what do we do now?” She asked. “I know everyone is in a frenzy, but I’m sure you two have something cooked up.”

“Well…” Tashigi began, putting her hands together. “Smoker and I have been theorizing that Joker will be withdrawing most of his business in our area. That means we’re going to have a harder time gathering information on his activity.”

“We’ll have to go farther away and make more stabs in the dark,” Smoker said. “Any of the intel Vergo provided--which was pretty much fuckin’ all of it—is useless now. Not that much of that wild goose chase was important anyway. And I’m sure Joker’s gonna cut ties with the underlings we’re aware of.”

“And this got me thinking…” Tashigi said, eyeing Smoker with a peculiar look in her eye. “We _do_ have one last card on the table.”

Bellemere looked at Smoker. Smoker ignored her and scowled at Tashigi.

“You’re playin’ dirty now, Tashigi,” he said.

“I’m not playing dirty. I’m simply letting Bellemere know of the emergency backup plan.”

“It’s not a goddamn backup plan, Tashigi. I told you we _aren’t_ doing it,” Smoker snapped. “And that’s final.”

Bellemere raised her eyebrows. “Okay. It seems that I’m out of the loop here,” she said. “Tashigi, mind telling me what you’re talking about?”

“Smoker knows a guy—”

“I _don’t_ ,” Smoker insisted.

“And if what I know about him is correct, he has some very useful connections,” Tashigi said. “I can’t contact him myself, so I’ve been trying to convince Smoker to do it.”

Bellemere looked Smoker over. He was determinedly focusing on a picture of his dog that was hanging on the wall. Considering how passionate Smoker was about justice and his job in general, it was strange that he would be against it. Especially given that it was to help find Law.

But convincing Smoker wouldn’t be difficult. Bellemere was good at that. But first and foremost, she had one other important business matter to take care of.

“Hey, Tashigi,” she said.

“Yes?” Tashigi asked.

“You guys are down an officer, right?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t—” Suddenly, realization dawned on Tashigi’s face. She blinked twice. “Oh. _Oh_! Oh, yes, of course!” She adjusted her glasses. “I’ll go get Sengoku right now!”

Tashigi hurried out of the room in a flash, leaving Bellemere and Smoker alone. Smoker finally pushed back his chair and got up. He folded his arms and regarded Bellemere with a curiously.

“Took you long enough to come back,” Smoker said. “What kept you?”

“After the first Joker incident, I wanted to do something that wouldn’t stress me out so much,” Bellemere said. “But guess what? Turns out not being here just stresses me out more. And with you lunkheads running around with your hands in the air, you’re gonna need someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Smoker narrowed his eyes. “You implyin’ I can’t do my job?”

“Of course not. But you’re new to this case. I’m not.” She poked him in the forehead. “And I don’t care who the hell you’re so afraid of contacting, but if he can help us, then get him on the line.”

“The guy’s a lowlife, just like Joker. Runs his own little gang of assholes a few towns over,” Smoker said. “He’s got a rep.”

“Smoker,” Bellemere said. “You’ve known a guy on the inside all this time and you haven’t bothered to talk to him before now? When he could have had plenty of valuable information?”

Smoker didn’t respond.

“Ugh—Whatever, I don’t care. What happened, happened,” she said. “What’s more important to you now, Law or your own stubborn pride?”

This comment struck Smoker. He gave Bellemere an icy glare.

“Now yer _really_ playin’ dirty,” Smoker said gruffly. “Fine. You want to deal with him that badly? I’ll give him a call. No guarantees that he’ll even want to help us.”

“Your efforts are appreciated, Officer Sticker-Butt,” Bellemere said with a laugh as Smoker left, phone in hand.

 

* * *

 

It took a week to contact, make arrangements, and finalize a meeting place with Smoker’s mysterious contact. He prefered to meet in a public place rather than in a private room in the station. It was the smart decision, Bellemere supposed, as she’d heard that the man did indeed have a record. Though they had no interest in arresting him, he couldn’t know for certain whether or not it was a trap.

They entered the cafe, all dressed in plain clothes. Smoker snuffed out not just one, but two cigars in the ashtray outside of the cafe. Each of them ordered something, so as to appear nothing other than normal, everyday customers. 

Tashigi was the one who spotted him first; a tall man with striking orange hair and a scar on his chin seated near the back of the cafe. He had purposefully chosen a spot away from the other customers. She nodded in his general direction and they made their way to his table. The man regarded them with a neutral look as each of them took a seat.

Bellemere immediately recognized him; Diez Drake. Though she couldn’t remember the details, she had seen the man in the news occasionally. He was known for his close ties to a few local gangs, but nobody was entirely sure how deep any of his ties went.

“Smoker.”

“Drake,” Smoker replied gruffly.

“You’re looking well,” Drake replied.

Smoker grunted, but said nothing else. He fidgeted in his seat. Bellemere had seen many different sides of Smoker, but it was rare to catch him looking downright uncomfortable. She didn’t know what sort of history the two had, but the way Smoker eyed the door and not Drake spoke volumes.

“Let’s get to the point. Have you considered our proposal?” Bellemere asked.

Drake leaned back in his chair, scratched under his chin, and took a sip of the coffee that was resting on the table. He seemed relaxed, but his pensive expression made it clear that he was taking this quite seriously.

“I’ve given it some thought,” Drake said. “Joker is by no means easy to track down when he doesn’t want to be found.”

“We’re aware,” Tashigi said. She knitted her fingers together and leaned on the table a bit. “This is why we’re prepared to take a different approach.”

Drake eyed them warily. He gave Smoker a glance, clearly expecting him to say something. But he didn’t. His expression was hard to read behind his sunglasses.

“You are treading in some dangerous waters,” he said. “Joker’s network is extensive. Some of his connections are worse than he is. Are you sure you understand what you’re getting yourselves into?”

Bellemere stared at Drake. Then, she let out a string of laughter.

“This guy’s adorable,” she said. She leaned toward Drake. “We’re damned well aware that Joker ain’t the scariest fish in the sea. If we weren’t prepared to net something a lot more ferocious, we wouldn’t be here.” She gave him a confident look. “I know better than to underestimate Joker and any of the people he answers to. But you’d better not estimate us either.”

“We know what we’re doing,” Tashigi added. “Do you?”

Drake’s eyebrows rose. He seemed to be at a loss for words. But then he chuckled.

“Perhaps I’m the one in the wrong here, then,” Drake said. He glanced at Smoker. “Well? Are you just going to sit there and ignore me while everyone else does all the talking?”

Smoker suddenly took off his sunglasses and tossed them down on the table. The movement startled Tashigi. Smoker looked at both of the girls before he stared at Drake with a long, hard look.

“You and I both know I wouldn’t dare contact you unless I was damn desperate,” Smoker said suddenly. “And that’s what it’s come to. I sure as hell don’t want to be here right now, but this ain’t about you, and it ain’t about me. I just want to bring a little boy back home. Can you do this or not?”

This seemed to satisfy Drake. He picked up the cup on the table, took another thoughtful sip, and then began talking again.

“I suppose I do owe you a favor, don’t I?” Drake said. “Very well. I’ll keep an eye open for anything I happen to hear. I make no promises, however.”

Smoker muttered something under his breath. Bellemere didn’t catch much of it beyond him calling Drake a, “flaky little shit”. He then got up, the legs of his chair noisily scraping the tile. A few customers looked back at their table, startled.

“That’s that. Let’s get out of here,” Smoker said.

Bellemere glared at Smoker’s back as he made his way for the door, ignoring everyone and anyone who looked at him. Tashigi quickly thanked Drake for his time and took her cup. But just as they were about to leave, Drake stood up.

“Smoker?”

Smoker stopped in the doorway.

“It’s good to see you again.”

Both Bellemere and Tashigi waited for Smoker to respond to him. But after a long pause, Smoker simply continued out the door as if Drake wasn’t there at all.

 

* * *

 

Even after so many years of being a civilian, putting on the badge again felt natural. Bellemere’s boring old nine-to-five job outfit had never really suited her. The heavy belt around her waist was almost comfortable.

Now that she was free to go about the station again at her leisure, she held her head up high. Quite a number of staff remembered her and were happy to see her again. If anything, she’d prided herself on keeping up a reputation as a damn good cop who got the job done. Several weeks into the job and the place was bustling. Officers from all over were swarming the little police station, bringing in whatever they could. Even if it was just scraps.

She found Tashigi staring up at a wall of headshots. As she got closer, she realized; this was the wall of missing children. Tashigi was focused on the picture of Law, which had been taken from Cora’s personal collection; one that Bellemere recognized as the one she’d taken of him and Law at the zoo. Law was grinning uncharacteristically.

“I hate thinking about it,” Bellemere said, catching Tashigi’s attention. “Law’s out there somewhere, having to fend for himself against a bunch of damned _gangsters_.”

From the opposite side of the hall, Smoker appeared, looking rather annoyed.

“Yer not gonna believe what we’ve uncovered,” Smoker said, though his tone was completely sarcastic.

Bellemere glanced back at him. He handed her a thin, cream colored folder.

“Lab tests from Cora’s place indicate that Vergo was on the premises the night of Law’s abduction. One hundred percent guarantee that he’s the kidnapper,” he said. “Which at this point everyone and their goddamn grandmother knows.”

“It’s still valuable information,” Tashigi pointed out.

“But what we _need_ is a damn confirmation on where the hell he is _now_ ,” Smoker said. “Punk Hazard PD searched his apartment but they didn’t find anything. He dumped his car, disposed of his phone—It’s unbelievable how much work he’s put into this.”

“I’m sure this isn’t the first time Vergo has had to cover his tracks,” Bellemere said. “The guy knows what he’s doing. Plus, he had access to all of our databases. Can you imagine what he’s trashed by now?”

“Have you heard anything from Drake?” Tashigi asked Smoker.

“He’s been quiet,” Smoker said.

“I haven’t heard anything from Nico Robin either,” Tashigi said. “Not since the initial accident. I was hoping that she might know something, what with her working the same case…”

“We can use all the damn help we get,” Smoker said. “And with Sengoku stepping down—”

“Wait a minute,” Bellemere interrupted him. “What was that?”

“...I guess with everything bein’ as it is, it got swept under the rug,” Smoker muttered. He jerked a thumb behind him. “Sengoku’s retiring. He’s cleaning out his office right now.”

Before Smoker could say anything else, Bellemere brushed past him. She sprinted down the hallway, turned, and then weaved past a few other officers as she made her way to Sengoku’s office. What the hell was he thinking? They were so close and he was just going to throw in the towel?

When she got to the door, she noticed that Sengoku’s office was missing his name plate. He was really going through with this.

Bellemere practically flung open the door

“You’re giving up on us?” She said.

Sengoku, who was in the process of taking down several dozen framed photographs from his wall, turned toward her. He didn’t look surprised in the least to see her standing there. He huffed, and then continued removing the frames.

“I’m retiring,” Sengoku replied. “There’s a difference.”

“Bullshit. You can’t just leave in the middle of all this!” Bellemere said. “Your expertise is crucial to this case! You’ve been at its heart since the beginning.”

“And have you considered that in itself might be the problem?” Sengoku replied. “I sent a man to his death not once, but _twice_ now, and years later we’re still no closer to bringing Doflamingo in.”

Bellemere went silent. Sengoku stopped on an older photograph; one that Bellemere recognized as one from his youth, with several of his fellow officers at his side. It dawned on her how old he actually was. He’d always seemed so central, almost immortal, as if he would always be there in the background to support them. But even Sengoku couldn’t fight old age.

He eventually finished removing photographs and moved on to his desk. He placed a few more of his things into the box; his name plate, a little statue of a goat, and some old hardware. She watched him as he slowly opened each drawer and emptied them.

“I’ve done my time here, Bellemere,” he said. “This was a long time coming. What that case needs is a new set of fresh minds.” He looked at her with a stern expression. “I was far too lenient. I made some terrible decisions.”

“Rocinante is capable of making his own choices,” Bellemere said, crossing her arms. “You can’t blame yourself.”

“I knew full well that he was impulsive and might take it upon himself to handle things. But I still sent him in there anyway,” he said. “Dozens of other fine officers and I chose him. You cannot tell me _that_ isn’t my fault.”

He packed up the box without another word and started for the door. Bellemere side stepped so as to avoid him. She watched him, unsure of what to say, as he passed her by.

“Chief—”

Sengoku held up a hand.

“It’s just Sengoku now, Bellemere.”

He slowly marched down the hall with his head bowed. Bellemere silently watched him walk, offering a salute.

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

 

* * *

  

The first thing he noticed was the steady beeping. Then, the brightness of the white walls and ceiling. Someone said something he couldn’t quite make out. He didn’t recognize the voice.

When he opened his eyes again, the colors weren’t so intense. It was later in the day, he supposed. He blinked himself awake. The beeping came from a machine to his side. From all angles he seemed to be in a hospital. His body felt weak. There was someone beside him holding his hand. He squinted, trying to make out the image. Pink hair, plaid shirt...that was Bellemere? She was smiling at him.

“Hey sleepyhead,” she said. “‘Bout time you got up.”

Rocinante looked at her for a long moment. She seemed so happy to see him, almost as if she was never expecting to see him again. He offered her a smile of his own. Something was bothering his throat. As he reached out to scratch it, his hand hit something. There was something wrapped around his throat. There was something covering his mouth. The smile slipped from his face.

It all hit him at once. The casino. Crocodile. Doflamingo and all his goons. Law.

 _Law_ …!

He immediately sat up in bed. His head whirled from the movement and he clutched it. He looked around in a panic. How long had he been out for? Where was Law? What had happened? He looked down at his arms. An IV was sticking out of one. He had half a mind to rip it out.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Bellemere said as she grabbed his shoulders. “Take it easy. You’ve been out for a while.”

As he tried to calm down, he was gasping for breath. It didn’t hurt, no, but something about it felt completely wrong.He pulled the mask from his face, earning him a frown from Bellemere. He let it drop into his lap, and he stared at it in his hands. Once again, the wound he’d received from Doflamingo hadn’t been enough to kill him.

But Doflamingo still had Law. He’d lost.

“What happened to you out there?” Bellemere asked. “Do you remember?”

He did remember. For the most part. He could recall Law being taken, running from Vergo and the showdown with Doffy...the rest remained fuzzy and faint. He strained to remember. Surely it would come to him later if it was important?

Rocinante looked up at her and opened his mouth to speak. As he tried to reply, all that came out was a airy gasp and then a chain of coughs. He wheezed and held his throat. Bellemere flinched and reached out to him again.

“Cora—! Are you okay? Should I get a doctor?” She asked.

He shook his head. She stepped back. Try as he might, he couldn’t say anything.

He couldn’t speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so! I'll be taking a little break after this chapter in order to rebuild my buffer cause it is completely empty. I'm thinking about maybe a month and a half without any updates? I'm not sure yet. But I'd really like to have something to fall back on before I continue on with posting this story.
> 
> Thanks so much for keeping with this story, all your comments and kudos are very much appreciated, and I'll see you guys real soon!


	25. Chapter 23

The temperature had dropped that night. Fall was upon them yet again, the warm summer climate long gone. The trees were slowly becoming bare yet again.

Rocinante brought a sweater to keep the cold at bay. It helped a little, but didn’t do much against the wind; it seemed to cut through every single hole in the sweater The moon provided enough light so that he didn’t have to bring out his flashlight just yet. The old, dead leaves scratched against the sidewalk and crumbled to pieces when stepped on. It was just enough to keep the silence at bay. 

Nobody came to the park at this hour. He effectively had the place to himself. As he wandered along down the path, he soon found himself deeper in the woods. It was hard to say what exactly it was he was looking for out in the dark like this. 

But he had that little hope in the back of his mind; maybe, just maybe, if he went back to the same place...

The moon became obscured by clouds, blanketing the area in near darkness. Rocinante switched on the flashlight. He panned the light around the area. It hit bushes and tree trunks, small piles of leaves, rocks, and the eerie, shadowy shape of the little bridge that crossed over the river. The wind hit the leaves, turning them over. But it was so, so quiet. There weren’t even wild animals scurrying around.

Something in the bushes glinted as the light hit it. Rocinante frowned. What was that?

He walked over to it slowly, cautiously. As he knelt down and brushed away the dead grasses, he froze. It was a pocket knife. He picked it up and turned it over. The blade was nicked by rust and coated with dirt. Using the edge of his shirt, he did his best to clean it off. Then, he folded the blade back into the handle and sighed.

Two years. It had been two years since he’d last seen Law.

Certainly in that time they’d made breakthroughs, found new information...but finding Law was like looking for a needle in a haystack. And it was quite possible that they were following false trails created by Doflamingo to throw them off.

All the while he couldn’t do anything. He was absolutely useless.

“Mr. Cora!”

Rocinante whirled around toward the sound of the voice, in the slim hope of seeing Law rushing out of the darkness. But as he caught sight of two children with blue and orange bouncing hat tassels coming over the bridge, he deflated. The fallen leaves crunched under their feet as Nami and Nojiko trudged through the grass.

“There you are!” Nami announced. She turned her head and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Mom! We found him!”

The bushes rustled wildly. Bellemere stepped out from them, a heavy-duty flashlight in her hand. She shined the light on him. He held up a hand to block it and squinted to see her.

“Cora, what the heck are you doing out here in the middle of the night?” She asked. “You had us worried.”

Rocinante said nothing. Not as though he could if he wanted to. Bellemere hadn’t needed to come after him. Even after the accident he was still well and able enough to go for a walk on his own. She lowered the light and approached him. He looked away into the trees. That little glimmer of hope that Law might burst out of them was still there.

“Well, whatever, you seem alright,” Bellemere said, patting him on the shoulder. “Just...leave a note or a text or something next time? I wouldn’t want someone to take you, too.”

Rocinante looked at her and nodded. The two girls led them back down the path, with Bellemere walking side-by-side with Rocinante, one arm around his shoulders. Rocinante couldn’t help but watch their surroundings as they left the park. There really was nothing there, was there? It was just a big, empty park. He let out a sigh.

“Are you tired?” Bellemere asked, looking up at him. “We can sit down for a bit, if you need to.”

He shook his head. Then, after a pause, he signed,  _ I’m just thinking. _

“Thinking...about Law?” Bellemere completed for him. “Ah, that’s right. You met Law here in the park, didn’t you?”

He nodded. It was where he found Law for the first time, and where he officially met him the second. After that, it slowly turned into a place they’d visited together. It was filled with memories now. Thinking about them filled him with only a moment’s worth of joy before the realization set in; Law was gone. Law wasn’t coming back. He was a damned fool for thinking that he could miraculously find him again.

He sniffed. It was louder than he’d expected. Bellemere was staring at him as he struggled to contain himself. He felt her squeeze his shoulder. She didn’t say anything, just gave him her best warm, hopeful smile. He wished he could manage the same enthusiasm that she had, but he merely looked away.

 

* * *

 

He woke up unable to breathe.

For a moment he thought he was back in the hospital bed with tubes jammed down his throat again. But, as he felt his neck, he found nothing but the old scar tissue. No wounds, no holes, no tubes, nothing. The walls were orange; he was in Bellemere’s house.

When he looked down, he found the culprit for his shortness of breath; that too-large, too-fat cat. He looked at it disapprovingly. Bellemere had gotten the cat, which was apparently an approved therapy animal, for him as a surprise. It was more of a nuisance than anything else. When he shifted in bed, the cat opened its eyes to look at him. It made a deep, raspy meow in response. He pulled himself to a seated position. The cat rolled off of his chest and into his lap, not at all bothered.

“Muuuushi!” Nami’s voice filtered in through the crack in the door. “Mushi, where are you?”

The door opened a bit. Nami peeked inside. With a smile, she invited herself in and approached the side of Rocinante’s bed. She glanced at the cat in Rocinante’s lap, at the large sheep plushie she was carrying, and then up up at Rocinante himself.

“I’ll trade you Yomo if you give me Nekomamushi,” she said. “Just for a little bit.”

Rocinante smiled down at her and reached for the sheep, which Nami happily handed over. She then grabbed a hold of the sleepy cat. The cat was too big for Nami to lift all the way, so she instead grabbed him from under his front legs and pulled him off the bed. Nekomamushi meowed again, but made no move to escape her grasp. His legs touched the ground.

“Mushi, Mushi, Mushi…” Nami chanted as she dragged the cat out the door.

He glanced at the clock; 9:00 AM. He jolted a bit as he realized he was late for work. 

But after he climbed out of bed and started pulling things from the closet, it occurred to him: he...didn’t have a job anymore, did he.

Technically, he was listed as “retired” from police work. But the reality was that he plain and simple couldn’t come back now. The accident had made breathing much more difficult, therefore chasing down criminals and other high-thrill activities were out of the question. Plus his inability to speak was a major handicap. It was a small town and barely a handful of people even knew basic sign language.

After setting his clothes aside, he decided to see what Bellemere’s girls were up to. It was a Saturday, which meant that they were both home with nothing to do. His new “job” was, more or less, watching them while Bellemere was out fighting crime, saving people from certain doom, and striking fear into the hearts of anyone who went above the speed limit.

Nami sat in the living room with Nekomamushi in her lap. She’d put a big, puffy orange hair scrunchie around his neck. Around her were a large number of plastic zoo animals she’d pulled out from an old plastic ice cream bucket. Nojiko was at the table eating a bowl of cereal.

_ Did Bellemere leave? _ He signed to Nojiko.

“Mom’s out meeting with Mr. Smoker and Ms. Tashigi today,” Nojiko told him in between bites. “But she said she’s got her eye on her phone so you can text her if you need anything.”

Rocinante nodded to her absentmindedly. He went to the fridge to look for something to eat. Bellemere left him a plastic container of pre-sliced pears with his name and a smiley face on it. He took it out and popped it open.

The sight of an all too familiar straw hat-wearing boy running through the front yard caught Rocinante’s eye. Nami didn’t seem to notice right away, too engrossed in her own little game. But after Luffy managed to jump onto the windowsill, she finally noticed. Luffy slid open the window. In the process he managed to wipe his hands all over the glass.

“Hey, Nami! You wanna come out and play?” He asked.

Nami glared at him. “You’re supposed to knock at the door, you big stupid dummy!”

“Oh.”

Luffy shut the window and jumped down. Seconds later, a tiny fist was knocking at the door. Nami skipped over to it and opened it.

“Yeeees?” She asked.

“Do you wanna come and play with me ‘n Ace?”

Rocinante watched Luffy and Nami curiously. He knew that Garp had very...open minded views of parenting, but was it really safe to let his grandson run around freely without an adult like that? Especially given how young he was.

“My Mom said that if we go anywhere, we gotta have an adult,” Nami said matter-of-factly. “And you don’t have an adult. So I’m not going with you.”

“But adults are dumb,” Luffy said, furrowing his eyebrows. “All they do is make rules and stuff. Where’s the fun in that?”

Nami puffed up her cheeks and turned away. “Hmph! Well then you’re gonna go and get kidnapped just like Law did and nobody will ever see you again!” She said. “And you can’t come crying to me when you do, cause I’ll be here, not being kidnapped.”

The comment struck Rocinante harder than it should have. He scratched the back of his neck and looked away. Nojiko’s head popped up.

“ _ Nami! _ ” She hissed between clenched teeth.

“What?” Nami said, looking back at her sister. When she noticed Rocinante standing there, she winced. “Oh...I’m sorry, Mr. Cora.”

Rocinante grimaced and waved a bit to assure her that it was not an issue. Then he signed to her,  _ Why don’t you and Luffy just play here today? _

“Okay,” Nami said, nodding. She frowned at Luffy when she saw that he’d started picking his nose. “Luffy stop being gross or you can’t come in!”

“Who says I wanna come in?” Luffy retorted. “Maybe I wanna go play at me ‘n Ace’s super cool secret hideout!” He stuck out his tongue. “There’s no adults and no rules and lots of fun things to do!”

“Fiiiiine!” Nami said with an exaggerated huff. She closed the door on Luffy, who yelped in surprise. “I guess I’ll just play by myself! And I’ll eat all the ham we’re saving for lunch without you, too!”

Rocinante watched as Nami skipped to the refrigerator with a smirk on her face. She pulled the container of leftover ham from the fridge and set it out at the countertop. He could tell from her expression that she was literally just doing it to taunt Luffy, who had gone and wedged himself in the window again.

“What!!” Luffy yelled. “I want ham!”

“Then admit that my house is better than your clubhouse!” Nami said, holding out a slice of ham. “Or I’m gonna eat it all right in front of you!”

Luffy’s face scrunched up in the worst frown he could muster. He narrowed his eyes at Nami. But she wasn’t looking at him, instead nibbling away at the edges of the ham. Luffy let out a long whine before he slid through the window and onto the floor. Nami looked at him.

“Fiiiiiine! Your house is better than my clubhouse because it has ham,” Luffy said.

“ _ And _ ?”

Luffy groaned. “And because my bestest-best friend in the whole wide world, Nami, who is the coolest ever, lives here,” he recited. “ _ Now _ can I have ham?”

Nami walked over to him with the ham in hand. He looked up at her with a grin. But when he reached out, she pulled it away. He frowned, got up, and reached for it again, but Nami, who was just a bit taller, effortlessly held it out of reach. She was taunting him. Rocinante ate a couple pieces of pear as he watched them run around the living room. He knew he should probably break it up, but…

“If you want the ham,” Nami began, “then you gotta come and get it!”

“That’s not fair!” Luffy said. “I said the thing! You were gonna give me the ham!”

“I never said that!”

Rocinante watched as the Nami ran under the table, Luffy in hot pursuit, grasping fingers held out in front of him. Nami was laughing as she weaved around the house. After two laps around the kitchen, she took the entire container of ham and fled out the door to the backyard. Nojiko watched them as she ate breakfast.

“I think we’re gonna need something else for lunch,” she said. “That ham’s gonna be gone before noon.”

_ We can go to the store for something in a little while _ , Rocinante responded.

He returned to his room with the container of pear pieces in hand. He sat down on his bed and ate them one-by-one. The room felt so small, and the boxes of stuff he’d had to vacate from his previous residence didn’t help matters. Bellemere’s house didn’t have much in the way of storage; the vast majority of things had been sent to a storage unit instead. But he’d kept some of his more personal things on hand. They’d been turned into a glorified cat nest now.

Sometimes he thought about unpacking them and truly moving in. But part of him still clung to the hope that eventually things would be normal again. Living with Bellemere and the girls was fine, but...he swallowed a piece of pear. This wasn’t how he wanted things to be.

Her house was ill-fitting for him. He was a bit too tall to fit in the full sized bed, peeked above the shower curtain, and hit his head on doorways. His seat at the table was a chair from another room.

From his window he caught an orange blur; Nami and Luffy were running around the backyard, weaving through the young orange trees. He watched them absentmindedly. 

When Nami’s comment about Law drifted back into his mind his expression soured. He layed back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Nami didn’t mean anything by it. But hearing it still hurt all the same. It was entirely possible that he would never see Law again. From years’ worth of missing children reports, he knew that not everyone who went missing would be found again. Even with the top officers working the case.

He was tempted to just lay in bed all day, wallowing in his thoughts, but he knew that he couldn’t go back to sleep now. 

He needed to get started on the day.


	26. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOO WEE! Welcome back, gang. It feels like it's been ages since I updated.
> 
> I've got two things of note:
> 
> 1) The scheduling for this fic is about to become a lot more sporadic. It's especially the case for this month seeing as it's NaNoWriMo (I'm dying) and I don't have a lot of time to work on my fanfiction projects right now. I went ahead and made a [fanfic update blog](http://milofanficupdates.tumblr.com/) specifically to notify people of when updates come. Feel free to drop a line there asking about this and other fics too, if you like.
> 
> 2) Do me a favor and check out this [hecking cool fanart](http://mathemayjicks.tumblr.com/post/152175562813/this-wasnt-what-i-was-going-to-draw-but-then) by [mathemayjicks](http://mathemayjicks.tumblr.com/)!! I absolutely adore it to pieces.

It was early in the morning when someone came knocking at the door. Rocinante, who had been up two hours prior, was sitting at the table in the kitchen reviewing some old documents. But just as he was about to get up, Bellemere came hurrying down the stairs in full police garb. He blinked at her. Wasn’t it her day off?

“I got this one, Cora,” Bellemere said.

He nodded and simply watched as she unlocked and opened the door. Tashigi was standing there, dressed rather nicely in a warm fluffy coat.

“Ah--Good morning,” Tashigi said. She adjusted her glasses. “You’re...er, are you headed out?”

“Yep. Smoker called me last night,” Bellemere said. She buttoned two more buttons on her shirt and stretched out. “Said that Drake found some guy in Punk Hazard who might know a thing or two about Vergo. I figured it was worth checking out. You come ‘round to see Cora?”

“Yes, of course,” Tashigi said with a confident nod. “Is he home?”

Rocinante took the opportunity to approach the door. Tashigi spotted him, but the way she awkwardly looked away told him that she had completely different plans prior to this. Bellemere looked back at him, grinned, and then patted his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” she said as she breezed past Tashigi and hurried away to her car. “Duty calls!”

Tashigi watched her leave until the police car was out of sight. Then she took a deep breath and turned back around toward Rocinante.

“Hello Cora,” Tashigi said with a small smile. “It’s...it’s good to see you. How are you feeling?”

 _Could be worse_ , was his reply. 

“That’s...good.”

They stood there awkwardly in the kitchen in silence. Tashigi scratched the back of her head. Rocinante looked around aimlessly. He wasn’t entirely sure what to suggest, but he had a feeling Tashigi silently was pleading with him to just let her leave. He glanced her over; she’d gone and dressed up fairly nicely. What had she been planning?

Then, as it came to him, he let out a quiet, airy laugh. Tashigi looked at him, confused.

 _You didn’t come here to visit me, did you?_ He signed.

“Wh-what?” Tashigi said. “No, of course I came to see you. We’re friends, after all, and I thought we could…” When Rocinante gave her a knowing look, she sighed and twisted a bit of hair between her fingers. “Was I really that obvious?”

Rocinante nodded. Tashigi sighed again and helped herself to a seat on the couch, where she slumped into a heap. Rocinante settled beside her. She played with her hair some more, looking ashamed of herself.

“I’m sorry, Cora, I really do value our friendship,” Tashigi said. “But…”

 _It’s fine_ , he replied. _No harm done_.

Again, silence. Tashigi, who was now looking rather red in the face, was staring at the floor. Having only spent a minimal amount of time with her outside of work, he hadn't really realized how young she seemed to be.

“You and Bellemere…were together, weren’t you?” Tashigi asked. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Does that make things weird between us?”

Rocinante shook his head with an amused smirk. His time with Bellemere had long passed. This seemed to comfort Tashigi a little, but her head was still in her hands, and she was still looking quite embarrassed. She probably hadn’t been ready to tell anyone else about it yet. And he knew it would be fruitless to say anything to someone like Smoker.

“I...I’ve been trying to work up the courage to talk to her for a while now,” Tashigi admitted. “But all of this…it’s so unprofessional. And I don’t even know if she….if she’s….you know…”

 _She’s into women_ , Rocinante signed.

Tashigi perked up with a new vigor instilled in her. “Sh-she is? Really and truly?” She asked. Rocinante nodded. “Oh…That’s--” She swallowed a little and adjusted her glasses. “I hate to impose on you like this, but would you happen to have any….advice?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Advice about Bellemere...it had been a long time since they’d been together. He thought back to the dates in their past; most of them were casual lunch dates, or movies on their days off. Bellemere liked to refer to any side-by-side missions as “dates” as well. She loved just in general spending time together, regardless of what it was they were doing.

 _She likes dark chocolate_ , he said. _Orange flavored candies too. She has more fun with casual dates than formal_ . He thought for a moment before he added, _She values honesty, too. Don’t be afraid to be open with her._

Tashigi nodded to each of his suggestions obediently, as if it was a how-to set of instructions. She seemed a little less nervous now that the initial reveal was over.

“This might sound unusual, but I’ve never...done anything quite like this before,” Tashigi said with a self-deprecating chuckle. “She’s going to think I’m weird.”

Rocinante made a face at her. She hadn’t thought _he_ was weird for being inexperienced. Bellemere wasn’t the type to judge people based off of that, and she certainly wouldn’t judge her friends for it. He gave her shoulder a squeeze. Tashigi looked at him with a small smile.

“You _like-like_ Mom?”

Rocinante and Tashigi both jolted as Nami threw herself on the back of the couch. She looked between them, grinning ear to ear. Tashigi glanced away self-consciously.

“If you and Mom started dating and then you got married, would that mean I’d get two moms?” Nami asked. Then, with a little gasp, “I’d be _unstoppable_!”

Tashigi tried to laugh, but it was weak. “Please don’t tell her, okay?” She pleaded. “I...I’d rather talk to her about it myself.”

“Mm-hm!” Nami put a finger to her mouth. “Your secret’s safe with me, Ms. Tashigi!”

Noting the time, Rocinante gave Nami a pointed look. _Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school?_ Rocinante signed.

“Oh, yeah!”

Nami let go of the couch and hurried away to the kitchen. Once she was out of sight, Tashigi seemed to shrink a bit more into herself. There was no hiding secrets from the girls, especially not so when they were just talking about it in the living room.

 _Nami would’ve found out one way or another_ , Rocinante told her. _I’ll make sure she doesn’t say anything_.

“I was...planning to work up to telling her. Eventually. Maybe after we’d spent a little time together and I’d assessed the situation between us,” Tashigi said. “But it’s hard to catch her when we both have time off. We work different schedules, after all.”

Rocinante nodded. Made sense. That was probably why it had taken so long for her to try something like this.

 _You’re going to have to make plans in advance_ , Rocinante told her. _She’s thrown herself headfirst into this case. You’ll have to convince her that she needs time off_.

Tashigi looked alarmed. “Me?” She pointed to herself. “I can’t tell her to stop doing something she’s passionate about just for _me_...I mean...she’s so…”

She made a vague gesture that Rocinante wasn’t entirely sure what to interpret as. But he understood what she meant anyway. Bellemere was a bit difficult to stop once she was on a roll. It was a little like trying to halt a moving train. But...He looked at Tashigi with a reassuring smile. Tashigi could probably do it if she tried.

 _You’re her friend_ , he signed. _She’ll listen to you_.

Tashigi didn’t seem so sure about that, but she nodded anyway.

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “Perhaps when things die down a bit it would be alright--”

“Mr. Cora!” Nami called. “Mom forgot her lunch! Me ‘n Nojiko made it super special just for her!”

Nami presented a brown paper bag that had “MOM” written on it in sloppy handwriting; perhaps Nami’s own. It was clear that the girls had stuffed more than enough food in it, it was lumpy and the bottom of the bag was sagging considerably. Rocinante knew that there would probably be plenty of food available for Bellemere in the refrigerator there at the station, but it would be a shame to let a lunch made with love go to waste.

He got up from the couch and took the bag from Nami, taking extra care not to harm the contents. It felt soft on one side but tough on the bottom. At least the girls had figured out not to put the sandwich in first.

 _I can take it to her later_ , he signed.

 

* * *

 

He probably wasn’t supposed to be loitering around while everyone had work to do, but the attendant at the front desk let him through without any trouble.

It was surprisingly empty today. Most of the officers were probably out on the town, and anyone else was busy with their own things. He vaguely remembered that Bellemere was scouting a lead somewhere out of town. Which...probably made the lunch delivery a lost cause. He sighed. Well, at least it got him out of the house. Perhaps if he just left it somewhere she’d find it later.

The office that Smoker shared with Tashigi was open. Rocinante entered the room, the bagged lunch in hand. On the wall in front of him was a large bulletin board covered with papers all strung together in an intricate web of facts. Clusters of newspaper articles dating back years were pinned to it, ranging from Joker sightings, his trademark, various arrests, and suspected coverups. In the upper left-hand corner, away from the rest, was Smoker’s collection of Crocodile articles. They were linked to the rest by a piece of blue string.

He studied the information. While Crocodile enjoyed the attention he’d gotten from newspapers, after the scandal the whole Joker incident had caused he surely wouldn’t want to work with Doflamingo again. Rain Dinners had taken a huge monetary hit since then and everyone was pointing fingers at him.

“Wow, Garp just lets everyone walk straight on back here, doesn’t he?”

Rocinante turned around. Bellemere walked in with an amused smile on her face.

“The least they could do was give you a guest sticker or something,” she said. “I mean, I don’t think anyone gives a damn since it’s just you but we gotta stick to the rules, y’know what I’m saying? Can’t have just anyone walking around freely in here.”

Smoker walked in from behind her with a newspaper clipping in his hand. He pinned it in its own section. Rocinante squinted at it. An eccentrically dressed man with what seemed like horns on his head was posing for a picture.

“Caesar Clown, renowned scientist and inventor,” Smoker said. “Add ‘weird as fuck’ to that list and it about sums him up.”

Rocinante looked to Bellemere with raised eyebrows.

“The guy makes a pretty popular line of hard candies that come straight out of Punk Hazard,” she explained. “The place gets the pass on health and safety inspections, but apparently there’s more to it than that. Drake dropped us a line and said that candy isn’t the only thing coming out of there.”

“ _And_ it gets better,” Smoker added. “We stopped at the Punk Hazard PD while we were there. Plant workers sometimes filled suspicious police reports. Talked about weird people coming and going, unexplainable sounds, strange behavior from other employees. Can you guess what officer covered the investigations?”

Rocinante’s face darkened.

 _So Vergo had a reason to be in Punk Hazard after all_ , he replied.

“Yep. ‘Course now most of his reports are getting checked over again, but the whole thing with Caesar is under the radar,” Smoker continued. “Nobody’s gonna pay much to a candy factory with everything else going on.”

Made sense. Rocinante looked at the board again. If Joker wanted to find a good place to store and distribute, hiding it in plain sight in a less obvious building wouldn’t be a bad idea. Of course, with it also being such a popular place would mean enhanced security and protocol to keep prying eyes away from it. Smoker and Bellemere would have their hands full if they were going to try busting into it.

But he knew that they’d be stubborn enough to keep at it even in the face of defeat. He silently wondered how they hadn’t been promoted yet.

“Say, Cora?” Bellemere spoke up. “What are you doing here, anyhow?”

The lunch. He’d been distracted by all of this new information that he’d forgotten the lunch. He picked up the brown sack from the table. Whatever was in it left a corner damp. Being out of the fridge for so long probably didn’t help matters either. He handed the bag over to Bellemere, who brightened upon seeing it.

“Hey, my lunch!” She said. “Thanks, I was looking forward to that. The girls stayed up late making it for me.”

She rolled back the scrunched opening and pulled the contents out one by one; a peanut butter and jelly sandwich cut into quarters, a little bag of orange slices which had leaked out some juice, another bag of some homemade trail mix that the girls had put together, and five pieces of candy that had probably come from the girls’ halloween stash. Without a second thought, Bellemere happily helped herself to a corner of the sandwich.

“Hey, Smokey, you like butterscotch?”

Bellemere tossed him the candy and he caught it easily. As Smoker untwisted the ends and popped the candy into his mouth, he studied the chart. His eyes drifted up to that lonely corner of older Crocodile articles.

Rocinante bit back a sigh as he realized what was coming next.

“Crocodile is as slippery as ever. He’s tryin’ to stay out of the eyes of the public and he’s doin’ a damn good job of it.” Smoker crossed his arms. “Y’know I got a search warrant for that mansion of his? Found lots of Croc’s garbage, but he wasn’t even there. Hadn’t been back in months. He’s screwing with our heads.”

“It sucks to know that Crocodile and Joker were involved with each other,” Bellemere said between bites of her sandwich. “Hell, knowing our luck, Crocodile probably knows where Joker’s base of operations is! I’ll bet that crusty old lizard is laughing at us.”

“The day I drag him off his high horse and lock him away will be the damned sweetest day of my life,” Smoker grumbled. He crunched the piece of candy loudly.

Ignoring the fact that they were talking as if he wasn’t even there, Rocinante wasn’t entirely interested in thinking about Crocodile. Something about the way they said his name, like it was poisonous, disgusting, brought back an all too familiar discomfort. Certainly it wasn’t false. Everything they had said about him _was_ true...and yet...

He’d returned the lunch. It was time to go. With a small wave to the both of them, he showed himself out the door.

Just as he was about to head back, a familiar face made him freeze in place. Garp was chatting with Robin about something or other. She’d cut her hair into a short little bob. While she talked, she maintained eye contact with Rocinante instead. There was a bit of a smirk on her face. Eventually Garp looked at him as well and gave him a short nod.

“Rocinante! Always good to see you,” Garp greeted. “You look like Bellemere dragged you out of bed.”

Rocinante shrugged a bit. It wasn’t false. Bellemere had a strict early to bed, early to rise policy. She wasn’t too keen on letting him vegetate in bed all day, wallowing in his own sadness.

“It’s been an awfully long time,” Robin said. She looked up at Garp. “Would you mind if we continued our discussion a bit later? There’s something I need to talk about with Rocinante.”

Garp let out a laugh. “Of course, of course,” he said. “I’ve got something I need to do anyhow. Come find me when you’re all done then.”

He briskly walked away from them without a second thought. Rocinante watched him go. Garp certainly was a lot more trusting than Sengoku was. Especially since he just let Robin walk around so freely...Sengoku never would have allowed that. Robin tapped his shoulder with two fingers and gestured back the way they had come.

“If you’ll follow me, please.”

She led him into the lobby of the station, out the door, and then into a little alcove by the steps. Rocinante glanced back at the doors in confusion. He’d assumed that Robin would be comfortable telling the other officers as well, if whatever she had to talk to him about was indeed case related. But the way she was looking at him had him on edge now.

“First and foremost, I apologize for not coming sooner, but I’ve been quite occupied lately,” Robin said. “I’ve been doing my fair share of homework as well.”

 _What’s so important that we had to talk about it out here?_ Rocinante signed.

“With all this work ‘ve been doing lately, I couldn’t help but think to myself how useful it would be to hire an assistant.” She eyed Rocinante with that unusual smile. “For paperwork and help with information gathering, of course.”

Which directly translated to her wanting to keep one of the key witnesses at her disposal. Robin knew that he knew more than what he was letting on. And the gleam in her eye was telling him that she was hiding something of her own. He folded his arms and gave her a hard look.

“Fufufu,” she chuckled. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

She reached into her cat-themed purse and pulled out a small stack of business cards. Rocinante reluctantly took one from her. It was fairly plain, only reading “NICO ROBIN - PRIVATE INVESTIGATION SERVICES” with a telephone number and email address listed. He noted that the location was listed as “Mock Town” which explained why nobody seemed to give Robin much trouble.

“I’ll have you know that my business is very much legitimate,” she said. “Some bonuses are the flexible hours and a handsome paycheck.”

 _There’s a catch_ , Rocinante replied. _What’s the catch?_

“Just think about it,” Robin said. “If you’d like to come by, my office hours are listed on the back.”

He turned the card over. Sure enough, there was a set of hours for the entire week. Robin wasn’t there much, only in the mornings and evenings, which he suspected was due to her spending a great deal of time working with other things. He watched her as she walked back into the station.

Knowing Robin, there was definitely an ulterior motive to this. But he couldn’t put his finger on it. Did she need more information about Doflamingo? No, he’d told everyone the full story of the incident already. In all likelihood she already had all the information stored at the station one way or another. Which left the things he _hadn’t_ told.

He didn’t like where this was going.


	27. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooooo man. I am so sorry, I totally didn't mean to go this long without updating! I was planning to update back in December, but the holidays were....very rough, let's say. And now I'm working on other projects and jumped aboard a new fandom hype train, too, so that doesn't help matters. I'll probably still be spotty but! I'm determined to keep writing this fic.
> 
> As always, you can check for new updates over at [this blog](http://milofanficupdates.tumblr.com) where I'll notify you as early as possible when the next update is coming!

Tuesday morning. Bellemere was off at work, the girls had gone to school. It was a good time to sneak out of the house unnoticed. 

But before he could take even one step out into the hallway, Rocinante squished a stuffed animal under his foot. He lifted it. The crushed smiling face of a small monkey toy looked back up at him. There were other stuffed animals around it, all scattered across the floor. All of them were recognisably Nami’s. 

He huffed. She probably knew that he’d just clean up her mess anyway...

He went along and picked up each animal; a leopard that had been dressed up, an overstuffed lion, a large dog in glasses, that one large sheep, and a worn reindeer that had been washed one too many times. He dumped them all in the empty laundry basket at the end of the hall that still had a hastily made sign reading, “THE DEATH PIT” taped to the side. 

Among the many stuffed animals on the floor was a moderately sized crocodile plush. Rocinante picked it up. It was a newer toy, its exterior still velvet to the touch. Its dangling legs were too long for its body, its tail was curled tightly, and its body was so round and awkward that it was just barely recognizable as a crocodile from its long snout and bumpy back. For a moment he just held it, his fingers jittering slightly, and stroked its back with his fingertips. Then he returned to his room with it in hand.

A corner of Robin’s business card peeked out from under a stack of old mail.  He pulled it out and looked at it again. With a sigh, he tucked it into his pocket. It wouldn’t do to forget the directions.

The boxes in the corner of the room containing his belongings were stacked in an intimidating mountain. Robin would probably want any sort of information he had, wouldn’t he? So he’d have to dig for it sooner or later and it was better to do it now while nobody could see him make a fool of himself by dropping everything.

He picked through the boxes, eyeing each label before he stacked them aside in a tall pile. When he reached the box labeled “ODDS AND ENDS,” he popped it open. Some of his personal effects from his undercover job at Rain Dinners peeked out from under the packing peanuts. He brushed them away. His old green and gold uniform was tucked away in the upper right corner. He pulled it out and set it aside. Underneath it was a sizable stack of papers; personal notes he’d taken on the animals, some notes on suspicious characters, and a few things that robin had given him.

When he picked the notes up, something fell down into the bottom of the box. He glanced down. A golden pen was laying in the open space. He narrowed his eyes. He should’ve thrown that thing away when he had the chance. Buried it, dumped it somewhere, given it away. But then again, it was all he had to remember...His fingers closed tightly around it as that familiar ache filled his chest.

Damn it. He was such an idiot.

Crocodile’s face--that  _ tone of voice _ he’d used--it was a memory that was burned into his mind. Rocinante wasn’t even sure what they’d had--what they’d only just barely begun to explore--was even salvageable. There was no doubt in his mind that Crocodile would probably kill him on sight should they ever cross paths again.

He closed his eyes. No. This wasn’t about either of them. This was about finding Law and bringing Doflamingo to justice.

When he went to put the pen back down into the box, he hesitated. He turned it around in his fingers, eyeing it. It still could be useful, couldn’t it? It still worked just fine. After a moment’s thought, he tucked the pen into his shirt pocket.

 

* * *

 

The bus to Mock Town was surprisingly crowded. Awkwardly tall as he was, Rocinante took up a bit too much space on the bench he’d chosen and pushed a pink haired girl in a fancy costume against the side of the bus. He mouthed an apology to her and she rolled her eyes at him. Unfortunately it had been the only seat with enough room for his damned long legs.

Mock Town had a reputation for being a little lawless; the streets were full of thugs and the officers were too lenient for their own good. It was surprising that nobody had thought to transfer someone like Smoker to the area. He'd have a damn field day.

The bus went along, stopping roughly every five or so minutes to pick up a mixture of employees, shoppers with too-full bags, and rougher looking people. Rocinante almost regretted not having just driven himself, but he had been concerned about leaving the car. Mock Town was a bit notorious for break-ins.

Finally the bus pulled up at his designated stop. He and a large group of other people quickly shuffled off the bus. Rocinante quickly got his bearings and set off in search of the location that matched the address.

Finding Robin’s office proved to be troublesome. It would be too difficult to ask for directions, so he was on his own. He walked along the streets with the business card in hand, the trail taking him through the cleaner part of the downtown area and into the much rougher outskirts of town. He passed various little drugstores and liquor-lotto’s, the occasional apartment complex, and a number of miscellaneous businesses.

He looked at the numbers on buildings and the street names until he came across a little alleyway wedged between two large buildings. It was an older street with uneven pavement. He made eye contact with a fairly well-built blond haired thug and quickly looked away. The last thing he needed was to get in trouble. 

His pace quickened until he reached the doorway to a building. Without a second thought, he ducked inside.

The addresses to each individual room were listed at the door, directing half up the stairs and the other half down. Rocinante glanced at the business card again. Robin’s business was upstairs, according to it. He slowly walked up the flight of stairs, passing a couple of rowdy kids as he went, and soon came to a long hallway filled with apartments. Each one had a three digit number listed on the door. He eyed each door, left and right, as he passed, but none were what he was looking for.

And then, as he rounded a bend, he came upon it. Room 213. It was a bit fancier than the others; it featured a large panel of frosted glass fitted into a sturdy looking door. He knocked on it twice. There was a short silence before the door opened, revealing Robin.

“Good morning, Rocinante,” she greeted. “Please come in.”

The interior of the office was plain, simplistic; a single desk, several chairs, and a couple plastic plants. Robin had a couple almost barren bookshelves decorated with only a selected few books and slender silver cats for bookends. Rocinante figured the bookshelf was simply for show. There were two doors to the right, which were tightly shut.

“Have you considered my offer?” Robin inquired.

Rocinante glanced back at her. He said nothing, instead furrowing his eyebrows and pressing his lips into a fine line. Robin seemed to understand. She stepped around him and took a seat at her desk.

“I understand that you might have misgivings, but I can assure you that I’m not up to anything,” she said. “I simply thought that we had complimented each other quite well before.” She smiled. “And there’s nothing wrong with having someone who has a little inside knowledge, is there?”

And there it was. Rocinante sighed and sat down in one of the available chairs. He gave Robin a hard look. He was tired of being involved with that previous case, tired of getting called in to review facts or be grilled for information.

_ Finding Crocodile won’t help you get Doflamingo _ , he signed.

“Fufufu, are you certain?” Robin said. “None of us can be quite sure of his whereabouts, after all. And he’s been confirmed as a co-conspirator. Surely he knows something.”

But Crocodile also kept information on a need-to-know basis and enjoyed playing damned mind games. Rocinante scratched his neck as he remembered Crocodile not even being keen on sharing his personal details on a certain special occasion. He’d definitely have to be coerced into talking. 

And assuming they even managed to pull Crocodile out from whatever hole he’d hidden away in, he and Robin were probably the last people that he ever wanted to see.

“Though they mean well, the police are spinning in circles,” Robin continued. “Forensics hasn’t drawn many conclusions, and much of the evidence is circumstantial.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Which is why I believe we need to take a more direct approach.”

Robin opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out a cream colored folder. She flipped through a number of pages, pulled a small stack of papers held together by a binder clip, and passed it over to Rocinante. He took it carefully and scanned it. It was a collection of testimonials from Rain Dinners employees, including but not limited to some of Crocodile’s more elite members. Sans Daz Bones, whom nobody was able to track down.

He’d read it many times before. Most of the information included wasn’t helpful at all to anyone. Crocodile’s underlings were a tight-knit group who refused to tattle on their boss.

“Before you ask where this came from, I requested a copy of this information from Garp. He was more than happy to give it,” Robin said. “I had hoped for something a little more...useful. But many Rain Dinners employees are fiercely loyal, I expected as much.”

He gave her a meaningful glance; where was she going with this? He passed the folder back.

“The first thing I think we should do is a little digging,” she said. “Which means we have to get in contact with some of the remaining Rain Dinners employees. Though many of them have slipped away, there are still a few remaining at the establishment. Namely, Bon Clay.”

Rocinante frowned and looked at Robin tiredly. Bon Clay was loyal, and quite friendly with Crocodile, and hadn’t been too keen on sharing much about the going-ons inside of Rain Dinners. Without any real reason to arrest the man, he’d been released. Last that Rocinante had heard, the casino-hotel complex had fallen into his hands.

_ Bon Clay wasn’t all too interested in talking _ , Rocinante pointed out. 

“Yes, that is what the report says, doesn’t it?” Robin said. “It’s important to keep in mind that Bon spoke to two police officers, not either of us. You were friendly with him, weren’t you?”

Rocinante nodded slowly. Yes, certainly they’d worked together for quite some time. And Bon Clay had never been hostile to him, but he’d imagined that he knew what Rocinante had done by now. It had been all over the news at this point.

“What I’m thinking is that he might be a little more willing to talk if you opened up to him,” she clarified. “If you convince him that we bear no ill will toward Rain Dinners or Crocodile, perhaps he might be willing to share something.”

Rocinante rolled his eyes. Yes, of course he’d be willing to spill the beans to the undercover police officer who tried to arrest his boss. 

_ I don’t think he’ll want to speak to me after all the mayhem I caused. _

“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Robin replied. “Though I didn’t know him very well, I always took him to be a bit more understanding than the rest of Crocodile’s underlings. If it’s true that you established any sort of bond with him, it would at least be worth a shot. He’s the only lead we’ve got for where Crocodile might have gone.”

That nagging discomfort about Crocodile returned momentarily. But as he remembered Law’s frightened face in his mind’s eye, every other worry was pushed aside. He’d spent so much time with Doflamingo already, he couldn’t afford to waste time. He clenched his fist.

_ I’ll do it _ , he signed.  _ If it means bringing Law home, I’ll do it _ .

Robin smiled. “I’m pleased to hear that,” she said. “Let’s hope Bon Clay is willing to share something.”

He nodded confidently as a thought came to mind; would Bon Clay be more receptive if he knew that the information could potentially save the life of a young boy? He was aware that Rocinante had a son, after all, and he’d always been very willing to cut him slack when Rocinante needed to help Law.

If he could just convey that he wasn’t trying to be hostile…

_ Maybe the police were using the wrong approach before _ , Rocinante signed.  _ If we approach him and give him the right incentive... _

“Do you mean Law?”

He nodded.

“I see. That might be a good approach,” Robin said. Then, she rubbed her chin and adopted a more thoughtful look. “You know...If there’s one thing I don’t understand about all of this, it’s Law’s connection to Doflamingo.” 

Ah, yes, this story again. Rocinante had withheld the information from Robin mostly in the event that she’d think he was open for information regarding the Joker case, but also in the interest of Law’s privacy. But, he supposed, it didn’t really matter now. Robin eyed him with a curious gaze.

“Police records mention that he was kidnapped, but there’s no clear explanation as to why he chose Law as his target,” she continued, steepling her fingers. “Would you be willing to fill in the blanks for me?”

It was slow, but he began to relay the story to Robin. About finding Law in the woods after he’d fled Doflamingo’s hideout. About how Law gradually opened up to him over the years and told the story of being picked up off of the streets. About how Doflamingo had wanted Law back, about Vergo’s involvement...and before the end, he had to stop as his hands began to shake. He sunk back into the chair.

Enough time had passed since the incident but it still affected him  just as bad. The feeling of the bullets tearing through his body. Doflamingo’s voice. Law’s terror-stricken face as he screamed and begged Doflamingo to stop. He held his face in his hands as he took a moment to simply breathe.

Robin noticed immediately what was happening. She stood up straighter.

“...That’s plenty for today,” she said. “Perhaps we should address another topic instead.”

He shook his head. No, no, he could manage this. These kinds of flashbacks were nothing new. After taking a couple minutes to calm down, his hands began to move.

_ That day _ , he began,  _ you were the one who pulled the alarm, weren’t you? _

Robin’s smile slipped from her face. She blinked at him.

“No,” she said. “I wasn’t aware of what had happened until after the fact. Nor was I anywhere near one of the in-line telephones.” She tilted her head slightly. “Perhaps it was a worried Rain Dinners employee?”

Made sense. Someone had seen them running around inside, or had heard the first gunshot, and made the call. According to the Alabasta PD, it was an anonymous tip that had sent them in. Rocinante had assumed that it was an anonymous Robin who’d tipped them off after seeing Rocinante run in unprepared.

He couldn’t help but feel a little curious, though. After all, the call had saved his life.

“Regarding what we’ll be doing from here,” Robin said. “I’ll make an opening in my schedule and we’ll meet at the cafe across the street before we pay Bon Clay a visit. Dress casually and keep your head down. Everyone in the building recognizes us by now.”

And nobody would be too happy to see them either. Rocinante ran through a few of his routes through the building, trying to think of which one might be the best path to avoid people. There was a door in the back that they could possibly get through...

_ Fresh food for the crocodiles always gets delivered around noon _ , Rocinante signed.  _ But the gate stays unlocked until one o’clock. Nobody should be guarding it then, everyone will be busy preparing to feed the animals. _

“Fufu. Sounds like a plan,” Robin said. Then, with a smile, she added, “I’m looking forward to working with you again.”

Rocinante could only hope that this time would go better than the last.


	28. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm not deceased! Please excuse any errors in this chapter, guys. My usual betas have work of their own to do and could only afford a quick read-through at around 3 AM.
> 
> The question on everyone's mind is probably, "Milo, it took you like six months to update, are you giving up Blackbird?" and the answer to that is...no. I'm not. I've just been up to a lot, which you can see [over here on my blog](http://musasuchus.tumblr.com/post/161990847373/so-where-is-milo-lately). Chapters will be pretty slow in this downtime, but even if it takes me months to finish them, they're still coming. This story is still very much so my baby.

It felt a bit nostalgic to be so close to the front doors of Rain Dinners. But now it featured the added bonus guilt in the pit of Rocinante’s stomach. Robin gave off the air that she didn’t care one way or the other. That was the plan, after all. Neither of them were supposed to seem suspicious. Just two friends catching up on old times.

“There’s plenty that we need to catch up on, you and I,” Robin said. “Two years is an awfully long time to be apart.” 

He nodded to her but didn’t reply right away. He sipped at the coffee that Robin treated him with. The tables around them were bustling with noise; customers chatting among themselves, some kind of jazz music playing in the background, and the register taking order after order. He wondered if they could speak plainly about whatever without being noticed. Not that many people would known sign language, in any case.

_What have you been up to, anyhow?_ he finally replied.  

“Ah, well my job does keep me rather busy. I’m always on the move,” Robin answered. “I almost never have the time to myself anymore.”

Vague and boring. Good. Nobody was going to care about that response.

_ The girls keep me busy at home _ , Rocinante tells her.  _ With Bellemere out of the house so often, I’m the default babysitter. Nami’s also bringing home new, rowdy friends every other day... _

He didn’t mind it, not really. All the children running around livened it up from the depression hole it could be sometimes. But he cannot deny that trying to keep Luffy from devouring their fridge’s contents and breaking up the fights that occasionally happened between the boys wasn’t rather annoying.

“Fufu,” Robin chuckled. “It’s never a dull day in either of our lives, is it?” 

He shook his head. Robin clicked her tongue.

“Rumor has it that there’s a bit of a romance budding in your household…”

He was about to ask who Robin had heard that one from, but remembered that a certain red-haired girl would spill her life story and several other people’s collected blackmail for the low, low price of a quarter. He rolled his eyes.

_ What did Nami tell you? _

“Fufufu, nothing particularly juicy,” she said. “She wanted five dollars for her best gossip but I only had a dollar on me at the time. But she did tell me that Tashigi was stopping by the house more often...” 

He picked at the wrapper on the gluten free cinnamon muffin sitting in front of him. Indeed she had been. It was a little awkward, less so that she was visiting and more so that Bellemere seemed pretty clueless still about everything. Her mind was still adrift with her job. The side of his mouth twitched into a smile. Bellemere and him, they weren’t so different, really. Once they set their mind to something, there was no stopping them. 

At twelve o’clock, the all too familiar food supply truck showed up at the nearby stoplight. Rocinante watched it round the bend toward the backside of Rain Dinners. Even though he couldn’t see or hear it, he knew that everyone was busying themselves with opening the gate for the truck and unloading the frozen animal carcasses.

_ It’s in position _ , he signed to Robin, who smiled a little and glanced at her watch.

“Yes, certainly, we ought to get moving,” she said.

Once their snacks were finished, they left casually. Or, well, Robin left casually. Rocinante could feel the nervousness in his insides slowly work its way out, starting with his shaking hands. It’s not so easy to maintain the air of calmness anymore. But luckily, nobody really seemed to be paying much attention to him.

They crossed the street as though they’re headed back home from a leisurely stroll. Even from this distance, Rocinante could see the gates of Rain Dinners are wide open, totally unsuspecting that they’re coming. Nobody really would be stupid enough to go in the back like this, after all. Not with all the crocodiles. 

The voices of Rain Dinner employees filters out through the wooden fence. Robin slowed her pace to a halt and pressed up against it, Rocinante following her movements. There’s some snippets of conversation--one of them seems to be more focused on lunch. The sound of crates being moved. Footsteps leading notably away from their current position. Robin gestured for him to follow.

As they peeked around the gate, they found no eyes on them. They made a beeline for the employee entrance of the main building.

Now the real fun began. How in the hell were they going to make it all the way to Crocodile’s office without being noticed? The place was always bustling with employees. Rocinante looked to Robin for ideas.

“Eastern stairwell,” she said to him. “Everyone avoids it because of the smell.”

The smell?

She doesn’t elaborate any further, and suddenly her hand is pulling him away. He jerked forward roughly and had to watch his damn feet so he didn’t trip over them. From down the other hall, he heard a set of voices. Shit. They were coming their way. 

“It’s just up ahead,” Robin whispered. 

Sure enough, it was; a large, white door leading into the stairwell. The clueless voices of the employees soon become muffled after they sneaked away behind the door. Both of them pressed up to the wall. There were two distinct voices and they seemed to have...crocodile jerky? on the brain. Rocinante let out a huff once they’d passed by. Robin laughed a little. 

“Don’t tell me, you got attached to the animals?” she asked, though her expression told him she knew the answer already. 

_They have their charms_ , was Rocinante’s response. 

A whiff of musty carpet caught his nose and he flinched. Oh. _The smell_.  

In that moment, he vaguely recalls there being a leak in the roof at one point. The details of that were fuzzy--something something awful roofers something, that had been one of Crocodile’s complaints some time ago. The carpet had probably been ruined at one point in time. Sure, it looked fine now, but the odor lingered. 

That probably pissed Crocodile right off, hadn’t it. 

Robin ascends the stairs ahead of him and he slowly followed after, their shoes echoing quietly off the walls, until they reach their floor. It was near silent on the floor as far as Rocinante could tell. He held the door ajar for a tense moment.  

Silence. More silence. 

Good enough.

He walked out of the stairwell with caution, taking slow, careful steps. Should any employees spot them he was ready to jump back to the stairwell. Robin seemed a lot more carefree about it, though, and after a moment of them walking down the hall, he fell into step with her. He tucked his hands into his pockets.

Right at the end of this hall was that all too familiar office. He could see it looming in the distance. His heart rate increased ever so slightly. Even after everything, it still held that same--dare he say it--fondness, almost. They stopped in front of it and simply stared at it for a good, solid minute. They exchanged glances.

“Would you care to do the honors, Mr. Beans?” Robin offered, making a sweeping gesture toward the doorknob.

That earned her a snort from Rocinante. He approached the door.  Almost mechanically, he reached into his back pocket for the key. There’s nothing there. Of course there wasn’t, he hadn't put anything in there. Yes, that’s right. He didn’t have the key, not anymore. Feeling a bit foolish, he removed his hand from the pocket and decided to straight up try the door instead.

The door was open. It’s...wrong. The door was never just open like that.

As they stepped inside, Rocinante immediately could tell that the office is...different.

It lacked the controlling, high-class feel that Crocodile instilled in it. The painted walls had not changed, but the old furniture had been removed and replaced with a more modern look. The colors were brighter. Crocodile’s things had been removed from the walls and from the desk. And, perhaps most noticeably of all, Pearl was nowhere to be seen. The crocodile tank was gone.

Someone was seated in the over-sized chair, facing toward the window. Rocinante felt his heart jump--no, no it wasn’t...it wasn’t him. He knew that. And yet the hope was still there.

Though it was gone seconds later when a familiar voice addressed them. 

“Oh, what do you people want now, hmm?” Bon Clay asked. “Haven’t you harassed me enough with your incessant questions? I don’t have anything more to tell the likes of you.”

“Fufu,” Robin chuckled. “But you’re quite the valuable source.” 

He turned around immediately, alarmed.

“You!” Bon Clay pointed an accusatory finger at Robin. “And  _ you _ !” He turned on Rocinante with the most ferocious face he could manage. Which wasn’t saying all too much. “Unbelievable! How did you get up here? Everyone is under strict orders to keep you two away from here!”

Rocinante began to sign at him, trying to give a decent explanation, before remembering that Bon Clay wouldn’t understand a thing he said anyway.

“Who’s to say that we didn’t invite ourselves in for a chat?” Robin said with a sly grin. “It’s a lovely day for a visit between old friends, wouldn’t you say?”

“Don’t joke aroooound!” Bon Clay exclaimed. He made shooing motions at both of them.  “No, no, no! Both of you get out this instant! You’ve done more than your fair share of damage here! I’ll not have you ruining things for us again!”

Rocinante visibly flinched. But Robin held her ground. The smile on her face slipped off. Without saying anything, she approached the desk and looked Bon Clay dead in the eye.

“You seem to have the wrong idea about us,” she said. “Perhaps there were...complications before, but our reason for being here is completely unrelated.” She turned back to look at Rocinante. “You do remember our very own Donquixote Rocinante, do you not?”

Bon Clay’s face lit up with recognition at the name. He stroked his chin. “ _ Donquixote _ , eh…”

At that moment, Rocinante snapped to attention and began to sign to him.

_ This isn’t about you _ , Rocinante signs.  _ This is about finding Law and stopping Doflamingo _ .

Though Bon Clay watched him intently, it seemed to take a moment to register exactly what he was looking at. Rocinante lowered his hands. Bon Clay glanced at Robin, and then at Rocinante again. Robin let out a quiet sigh.

“Rocinante was injured in the resulting street fight involving the Donquixote Family,” she explained. “While most of his physical injuries have long since been treated and healed properly, the long term effect is that he can no longer verbally communicate properly. I can translate anything he says for you.”

“...Ah,” Bon Clay said softly, his demeanor changing from hostile to sympathetic. “Yes, I suppose I do remember hearing about a police officer being struck down in the resulting panic. It was in the newspaper.”

Rocinante bowed his head a bit, eyes fixated on the carpet. 

“And there was a child abducted, too, was there not?” Bon Clay asked. “I do remember it being a very large ordeal…” His face lit up with recognition. His hands flew to cover his mouth. “Oh, my goodness, that wasn’t _your_ \--?” 

Again, Rocinante said nothing. But he did nod solemnly. 

“...I see.” 

“That’s what we’re here to talk about,” Robin said. She handed him the file folder under her arm detailing the kidnapping. “We’re not here to pry about Rain Dinners, not this time. This is just about Law.” 

“Very well. I cannot say I’ll be entirely too much help, but I’ll give it my best.” 

Rocinante looked up as Bon Clay paged through the folder’s contents. He glanced at the bookshelf that sat to the right of the desk up against the wall and approached it slowly. Some of these had been in Crocodile’s personal collection. The names and worn binding of some were familiar. Ah, and _that_ one...  

When Bon Clay’s eyes were on him again, he pointed to the bookshelf. At one point in time this was the spot where he’d cleaned out a crocodile’s holding tank. Bon Clay seemed confused, but then he let out an, “oh!” 

“Ah, yes, it certainly has been quite some time, hasn’t it?” he said. “Our lovely little Pearl is a growing young lady and got too big to contain. She’s been moved out back to her own private suite--the little princess needs her space, after all!” 

He made a sweeping gesture toward the window. Rocinante approached it slowly and peered out of it. The same enclosures were all there...save for a small one that was closer to the crocodile hut out back. It was hard to see from this distance, but with how lavishly it was decorated, it was probably meant for Pearl. Something still felt strange, like it was all wrong. The office felt empty without its other inhabitant. 

He could feel Bon Clay’s gaze on him. 

“...For the record, I don’t know where Crocodile is,” Bon Clay admitted. “He left the casino in my hands, but I don’t have a means of contact.” 

Rocinante deflated. Well, Crocodile did seem the type to drop a failed venture and all that was included with it. But that hope had still been there--followed by that awful, nasty little twinge of guilt that came along with it whenever he thought about Rain Dinners. 

“That said…” Bon Clay began, catching Rocinante’s attention once more. “Crocodile tends to be a difficult man to find usually. But! If you want to find Crocodile, I’d suggest looking for Daz Bones first. He might’ve cut ties with everyone else and left me in the dark, but I can tell you right now that there’s not a chance he’d be able to drop Daz after all that.” 

Of course, Crocodile’s most trusted underling. That made sense. Daz Bones had been the one on Rocinante’s tail from the moment he stepped in the casino--and after all of that, he was probably the only person Crocodile actually considered trustworthy enough to keep at his side. And he, too, hated Rocinante.  

Oh, boy. That was going to be yet another interesting confrontation. 

“Thank you for your help, Bon Clay,” Robin said, accepting her file folder back from him. “It’s much appreciated.” Rocinante nods along with her. “If we need anything else, I’ll be in touch.”

Bon Clay frowned, clearly not too enthusiastic about it. Then, his head popped up and there was a hint of realization in his eyes.

“You two…” Bon Clay said, looking between them. “You came up here through the disgusting eastern stairwell, didn’t you?” Robin merely grinned that all-knowing grin at him. He frowned. “Oh for goodness sake, we really ought to do something about that…”

“Fufufu...It was nice to see you again.”

With that, they’re out the door. Rocinante inhales deeply and then releases it again. That was...uncomfortable. Certainly, he did like Bon Clay, but the air was heavy. Maybe...perhaps, maybe someday they could become friends despite all of this.

“It will probably be quite difficult tracking Daz down,” Robin said as they took their leave. “I can hardly say I know much about him. Crocodile, certainly, but Daz has always been a bit of an enigma. He always kept to himself.”

Rocinante glanced at her and blinked. She looked up at him.

“Ah, but by no means am I giving up. We’ll simply have to think outside the box.” She tapped the folder in her hand. “And perhaps the search will have to be shelved until something of interest comes up. There are indeed plenty of other things for us to be doing in the meanwhile.”

Not exactly a particularly easy thought to swallow, but Rocinante nodded regardless. From the way Robin had spoken about her line of work, there were plenty of other investigations to do. Perhaps one might lead them in the right direction. Stranger things  _ had _ happened in the past before, he thought to himself as he recalled Robin’s case about Doflamingo.

Right then. Into the stinky stairwell they went.

 

* * *

 

...And of course returning back home and pretending like he’d spent the day doing nothing was simple enough. Once he’d arrived back home he’d quickly changed into some regular around-the-house clothes. Just a normal day. No Rain Dinners, no excitement for him.

The girls arrived home from school immensely distracted by some schoolyard drama that seemed to be going down between Luffy and some kid named Usopp. Rocinante half-listened to it, but he was still a little distracted from the day’s events. Plus, in the middle of Nami and Nojiko rambling on and on about a reindeer plushie, Bellemere walked in the door. 

“Sorry, I got held up,” Bellemere said. “Ended up talking with Tashigi a bit too long.” She set her things on the counter; a small purse, some assorted paperwork, an old kid’s lunch sack with Nami’s name on it that she’d been using. “Did you know that girl’s into fencing? Apparently she collects antique swords, too.”

Rocinante and Nami shared a meaningful glance. Nojiko furrowed her eyebrows at them, but Bellemere caught that there was something going on instantaneously. She arched her eyebrows and put her hands on her hips, a small smirk on her face.

“What’s with the faces, huh?” she asked.

“No-thing, Mom!” Nami said in a sing-song voice. “Mr. Cora was just gonna come upstairs and play with me. Right, Mr. Cora?”

Rocinante smiled a little and nodded. Nothing suspicious. No secret knowledge of hidden romance here. Nami slipped off of the chair she was sitting on and tapped Rocinante’s leg. He took that as his sign to get up and leave. Bellemere crossed her arms at him and in exchange he just shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t know anything. Of course not.

Nami leads him upstairs and stops in the hallway to giggle obnoxiously, pleased with herself. Rocinante rolled his eyes. At this rate, it was only a matter of time until Bellemere found out about all this. Not that he saw a particularly bad outcome to it.

“Psst. Mr. Cora.” 

He glanced at Nami. She was holding a tiny, worn pad of paper in her hands. It was the book he’d stolen from the office. Crocodile’s personal address book. 

Shit.

“You left this downstairs by the door,” she said, grinning ear to ear in such a way that he knew that he was busted. “And I’m just being nice and giving it back.” Rocinante grinned awkwardly and held out his hand for it. She carefully handed it to--no, wait, she pulled it back. “Hmmm. Maybe I oughta give it to Mom. The stuff in here is reeeeally weird.”

He swallowed and shook his head. No. No, she didn’t need to know this just yet. There was a sneaky glint in Nami’s eye.

“Gee, I dunno, Mr. Cora, she does get preeeetty worried about you! What if this is super confidential undercover cop work, huh?”

He sighed softly. And then picked up his wallet from off of the table beside his bed. He picked through the cash in there and pulled out a worn five from it. He held it out to Nami, whose eyes were sparkling with glee. She practically tore the cash from his hand and shoved the book back into it.

“Pleasure doin’ business with you, Mr. Cora!”

She scampered away, humming a tune. Rocinante shook his head. Every single opportunity she could get to make a profit...

He looked down at the book in his hands and paged through it. Honestly, he was amazed to have spotted it on the shelf. In the flurry of panic, it must have been forgotten about and misplaced with the other books in Crocodile’s collection. There were countless pages torn from it, including ones that he’d gotten information from before. But the book was still filled with writing, some of which he had trouble reading, but...it was something, at least. 

Maybe it’d be a sign leading in the right direction.


	29. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while. Hey guys! 
> 
> The short answer to why I haven't updated in ages is that 2017 was...a really difficult year for me. A lot of stuff went down emotionally and getting back on my feet has been hard to say the least. I wasn't really able to write much, which sucked because I used to be able to hammer stuff out really well and with a lot of passion. It's still a bit of a struggle to figure myself out, but I'm managing myself a lot better. Here's hoping I can keep my head up in the future.
> 
> As for this story? It's not dead. Even if it takes me a while to update sometimes, I always plan to come back to it. It started out as a labor of love and continues to be just that. I have all intentions of seeing this story through to the end no matter how long it takes. Thank you all so, so much for hanging in there while everything got rough for me.
> 
> And on that note, I do have an announcement! I'm planning to go back to regular updates again. The plan is every two weeks on Saturday, just like in the old days! So I'll see you guys again in April!

Whoever thought it was okay to sign Rocinante up for Luffy-sitting duty needed a stern talking to. He was pretty sure that kid didn’t even know the meaning of the words, “quiet time”. But he grudgingly took the kids to the playground anyhow. He was much too slow and wobbly to keep up with any of them, but thankfully Nami and Nojiko stopped for him occasionally during the long walk over.

Why would they want to play outside when it was still this cold? It was beyond him. He thought it best not to ask, and simply found himself a place to rest on a still-damp bench with a good view of the playset.

“Ew!” Luffy stuck out his tongue as he stepped in a puddle near the swing set. “It’s all wet and gross!”

“Weren’t  _ you _ the one who wanted to come here the most?” Nami said with a huff. Rather than walk around it, she hopped directly in it with her rubber boots and splashed Luffy, who made a face at her. “Shouldn’t have worn sandals, Luffy!”

“But I  _ like  _ sandals!”

Rocinante waited for the children to scamper off before he reached into his jacket pocket. He drew out the little book he’d stolen from Crocodile’s office to page through it while the kids rushed onto the playground. There was a sizable chunk torn roughly from the front of it, as if Crocodile had been in a fit of rage when he’d done it. But the majority of it was in good condition, if not a little hard to read.

Toward the back of the book there were various different numbers and addresses. Rocinante could figure some out some of them; various live entertainment gigs he’d arranged, catering companies, a few different rentals from nearby businesses. There were various notes, too, about future shows that would probably never come to be. Seemed that Crocodile was pretty meticulous with his record keeping, even far into the future.

And that was when he saw a particular note:

_ SPIDERS CAFE _

Ah. The Spiders Cafe. The tiny note written on the paper was that of their date--Spiders Cafe at 8:30, casual meeting. That made Rocinante snort. Really, that’s what he’d decided to call it? A casual meeting? Maybe he was concerned about snooping eyes in his book.

The very next page had two lists:  a list of numbers, from zero to twelve, and various holidays and weekdays alongside them. He furrowed his eyebrows. The note at the very top beside the zero caught his eye; Crocodile had written, “All-Sunday” next to a scribbled out but still barely visible, “Allison Sunday”. He stared at it as the name clicked in his memory. Perhaps Robin knew something about all this?

“Your uncle’s really weird, Nami,” Came Luffy’s loud, obnoxious voice from the playground, pulling him from his thoughts. “How come he doesn’t say nothing?”

“ _ Luffy! _ ” Nojiko snapped at him. “You can’t just ask stuff like that!”

“Why?” Luffy asked obliviously. “I wanna know!”

Rocinante’s gaze darted up in their direction . All three children were glancing at him out of the corners of their eyes, worried that he might have heard them. He quickly looked back down, feigning ignorance 

The girls, knowing full well what the situation was, quickly rounded on Luffy. But Luffy was a kid. Just a kid. He didn’t know better. Rocinante could let it go because he didn’t understand--

“Huh! So he  _ used to _ talk?” Luffy said loudly. It was followed with the sound of creaking play equipment. “He doesn’t  _ look _ hurt. Does he just not wanna talk to anyone now?”

Rocinante pressed his lips together firmly. Patience. He had to have patience.

“Y’know who  _ should  _ want to stop talking?” Nami hissed. “ _ You. _ ”

“I like talking, though,” was Luffy’s response. He jumped down onto the wood chips.

Focusing on the book was becoming  difficult. Now he was just turning the pages back and forth, pretending to read. But as he heard the sound of footsteps walking up to him, he could look up again and tuck it away in his pocket. Luffy ran over to him and stopped just before him. He tilted his head back and forth, scrutinizing Rocinante, who in return eyed him with mild confusion.

“...Ohhhh, I see it now,” Luffy said, nodding sagely as he touched his own throat in the same spot where Rocinante’s scar was. He then looked up to meet Rocinante’s eyes with a grin. “Hey Cora-guy, Nami says you talk with your hands. Can you show me?”

In the background, Rocinante caught sight of Nami putting her face in her hands and Nojiko sighing loudly. He let out an airy snort of amusement. Luffy was a bit too young still to understand the concept of polite discussions, it seemed. But he didn’t mean anything bad by it. He was just...very blunt and a bit too carefree for his own good.

When Rocinante nodded to him, Luffy settled down on the bench next to him with a gleeful expression.

“How d’ya say meat, huh?”

Of course he’d ask for that. Rocinante just smiled, flattened his left hand and combined it with an okay hand sign, then moved the sign back and forth once. Luffy watched him intently, brimming with enthusiasm as he tried to imitate it. It wasn’t quite right, but he seemed to get the idea.

“That’s cool!” he exclaimed. “It’s like a secret code!” He made the sign again and then looked up, starry-eyed. “What about burger? And steak? Huh? And ham? And pizza--!”

“Luffy!” Nami shouted from the playscape. “Stop bothering him!”

Even though Rocinante waved her off and showed Luffy each individual word, one by one, Nami still rushed over to them, a look of disapproval on her face. It took Luffy a few tries  to get the various signs, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. He repeated the sign for hamburger a couple of times, giggling to himself.

“Shishishi! Hey, Nami! I’m hungry! Can we get some--” He made the sign for hamburger. “--Burgers?”

Nami shook her head and groaned loudly. “Ughhh...Why do you  _ only _ ever think about  _ food _ ?”

 

* * *

 

There wasn’t much that Rocinante really had to do while working together with Robin--honestly all he really did was file paperwork and jot down notes--but it did bring back a little bit of spice to Rocinante’s life. There was something fulfilling about having something to do with his spare time again.

It was curious, though, that Robin was rarely if ever in her office outside of specific appointments. Most of the time Rocinante would be there alone, like he was at the moment. A bit of curious poking around revealed that there was indeed some living quarters here; it was little more than a dresser, lamp, and bed, however. Robin clearly had no plans to officially move into the place. 

Still, he was curious. Was Robin a dedicated minimalist, or did she keep her belongings somewhere else?

While he waited for her, he browsed what little there was on the bookshelves. Though most of Robin's books were related to architecture, there was a single, tattered volume tucked away between a magazine on Shaboady townhouses and an older reference book on Skypeia’s ancient cities. It was well worn and covered with marks, sticky notes, and folded pages. The glossy lettering on the front  read, “OHARA: CONSPIRACY THEORIES”.

The front door opened. Rocinante tucked the book back into the shelf and went to meet Robin, who had a brown paper bag in her hands.

“Nice to see you, Mr. Beans,” Robin greeted him affectionately. Rocinante nodded in response and offered her a small smile. “Anything interesting happen while I was gone?”

_ Nothing in particular _ , he replied.

She set the bag down on top of her desk and moved to review a bunch of papers that Rocinante had put into a neat pile. Each one had the details of a few minor cases that he and Robin had been taking up between their major case; some missing persons, stolen items, and a strange report involving zombies. The man who’d come in wanting an investigation of the living dead around the area of Thriller Bark amusement park reminded him a bit of Moria...

Oh, and then there was one other thing.

“--Hm?” 

Robin turned away from the paperwork as Rocinante tapped her on the shoulder. He held out Crocodile’s book, which he’d bookmarked with a sticky note on the page with the holidays. He’d written a note with a question on it;  _ What do you know about this? _

“This is…?”

Gingerly she took it from him and opened it to the designated page. At first she seemed confused, but then she blinked and turned back toward Rocinante with amusement.

“...Fufufu,” she chuckled. “Seems I’m not the only one who isn’t opposed to get their hands dirty looking for evidence.”

Rocinante rolled his eyes and signed,  _ Crocodile didn’t need it anymore _ , in response. Robin hummed and reviewed the page with interest, fingers trailing down the list.

“Ah, of course. Baroque Works,” she said. When Rocinante returned the statement with a confused stare, she took to her seat and elaborated, “It was Crocodile’s most trusted people. Underground workers and employees…”

Rocinante pulled up a chair and she laid the book out flat on the desk. One by one she went down the list starting with zero (which was apparently Crocodile’s number). The code appeared to be numbers for men and holidays for women. While most names were lost on him--save for Daz Bones and Bon Clay--Robin seemed to be intimately familiar with everyone, even down to the lowest number.

“The holidays were my contribution,” she said. “Fufu...I wonder if he ever considered that All-Sunday was where I’d gotten the pseudonym from in the first place…”

His gaze remained on the book for a moment longer, and he turned it to face him properly. Something...something about the numbers was familiar,  _ so _ familiar, and he was struggling to remember why. He turned the page back toward the note about the Spiders Cafe. Memories from that date night flooded into his head. It was pretty average all in all. Nice atmosphere, classy food, the wait staff was--

He paused.

Though he could no longer remember the man’s face, he did remember that his uniform had a very prominent five embroidered onto it. He flipped the page back. Mr. 5. Was there a connection? Robin’s eyes followed his and she seemed to catch on.

“The Spiders Cafe...yes, that was in Crocodile’s possession,” she said. “I believe it was purchased prior to the development of Rain Dinners…”

She pushed back from the desk and pulled open a drawer filled to the brim with folders. A bit of picking through turned up a rather heavy one labeled, “RAIN DINNERS”. It landed on the table with a resounding smack, crushing the book underneath. When Robin opened it, Rocinante saw countless spreadsheets of information of various kinds, all clustered together. While he couldn’t make heads or tails of it, Robin went through it with ease.

“Ah, here we are,” she said finally, pulling out a couple spreadsheets with some notes written in marker. “The cafe was a rather successful business, I’m not surprised Crocodile decided to invest in it. I remember he put a good sum of money into refurbishing and staffing it…”

Peeking out from underneath the stack of Rain Dinners information was a photograph. Rocinante paused and gently tugged it free. It was a bit of an older photo of a large group of people posing in a group with Spiders Cafe uniforms on. Most had friendly expressions while others were stoic but otherwise neutral. He spotted the familiar face of the waiter within the crowd, but what was more interesting was the reserved Daz Bones standing off to the side in casual dress.

He flipped the image over. It read simply, “ _ Spiders Cafe, Grand Re-opening! _ ” in some frilly cursive writing with a couple tiny doodles of a spider and a lemon off to the side.

“A bit before my time with Crocodile,” Robin said to him. He glanced up at her and then back down. “I believe the previous owner of the cafe was Daz Bones. Crocodile took him on as an assistant manager of Rain Dinners for that and other reasons...”

The room became silent. They shared a meaningful glance.

_ Has anyone gone looking here? _ Rocinante signed.

“Come to think of it, the cafe being a possible hotbed of activity wasn’t something I considered,” Robin admitted. “Quite a bit of Crocodile’s under the table work happened at Rain Dinners itself, but Daz Bones’ career has always been rather private...”

He stared back down at the photo. Daz’s gaze was on the employees, a calm but pleasant expression on his face as he looked out at them. It was different from the stern looks that Rocinante was used to. Almost proud. Perhaps at one point it had been a rather tightly-knit group.

Though now Rocinante wondered, knowing now what he did about the hidden basements of Rain Dinners, what may have been hiding under the floorboards...

“I suppose we’ll have to take a bit of a field trip, won’t we?” Robin said, completing his thought.

 

* * *

 

The Spiders Cafe was...desolate. All signs of human life seemed to have long since vanished from the premises. Weeds had already begun colonizing the parking lot in the cracks and holes. The glass front doors and windows had newspapers hastily taped into them. It seemed that for all intents and purposes the building had been abandoned. That in itself was fishy.

Rocinante calmly walked up to the doors and pulled them. They stuck tight. He didn’t really think they’d be open, but it was worth a shot. And that was what the lock picking kit was for.

“I wasn’t aware you knew how to pick locks,” Robin began as Rocinante fiddled around with the tools. “You’re a man of many talents, it seems. I don’t suppose it’s a trick learned in the police academy?”

Rocinante paused. Hard to tell if she was playing with him or not, but he elected to ignore it. With a bit of tinkering and a lot of patience, the lock clicked open. Rocinante stepped back. He glanced to Robin and then signed a reluctant,  _ My brother taught me _ . Robin gave no response to that.

The noise of the busy Alabastan road filtered out as they walked into the front lobby of the restaurant. The air was thick and stale, with a hint of must clinging to it, and the papered windows only let through so much light. Everything was painted in a bit of a dull, faded orange color. Rocinante took slow steps through the building, each one audible in the near complete silence.

Everything was left as is; tables were still set, menus were sitting out, there was even a platter of glasses on an end table with fine lines of encrusted minerals on the inside, presumably having once been filled with water. Rocinante raised his eyebrows at that. Had everyone left in a hurry?

“My...This wasn’t quite what I was expecting to see,” Robin said as she lifted a dusty menu from the table. “Seems everyone’s ran off in the absence of Crocodile, hm?”

Rocinante stepped away from the table and gazed around the room. Even in this state, the building was still rather aesthetically pleasing. But there was little in the way of evidence of what they were here for in the main dining room, so he shuffled off toward the door labeled, “EMPLOYEES ONLY”.

Calling the kitchen area dirty was an understatement. Though not as much in disarray as it could have been, there were signs of the departure from the building being a bit haphazard, as though everyone had left in the middle of the day. Still dirty dishes were resting in the sink basin, a large, expensive looking coffee pot (long since turned off) with some dark sludge remaining behind. Rocinante wrinkled his nose. Something smelled like spoiled milk, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was or where it was coming from.

The swinging door creaked open, swung back, and then slipped back into place. Rocinante glanced back toward it. Just Robin. She seemed to notice the odor of the room and her face scrunched up a bit.

“...I don’t think anyone considered the contents of the refrigerator before they fled the building.”

She pushed a small rolling cart with a stack of trays resting on top of it out of the way of a closet and looked inside. When in doubt, always check the closets. Rocinante lets out a bit of a laugh remembering it. While she rummaged around in the coats, he wandered off in the opposite direction, toward what appeared to be the break room.

It was fairly simple. A bit of counter space with a couple cabinets, a private coffeemaker near to a mini fridge, a small couch that was well worn, and a small table with four chairs. Though it was largely vacant of things, someone had left a couple empty pizza boxes and a dirty paintbrush on the table, and a child-sized coat draped over the back of one chair.

Strange that a child would be running around this place. Maybe someone’s daughter, or a sibling? He rubbed the fabric between his fingers. It was decent sized, but whoever owned it couldn’t be much older than Law.

...No, it was more likely they were younger than Law now, wasn’t it? 

With a long sigh, he released the garment from his grip and went to settle on the couch. It’d been years now...how much had Law grown, how much had he changed? By now he’d be less of a child and more of a teenager. Surely all the clothes they’d saved weren’t going to fit him properly anymore. He remembered the dirty, torn clothes he’d found Law in--assuming Doflamingo had even enough care in him to fill a bottle cap, was he at least looking after him properly?

He shook his head. Here they were in the middle of illegally trespassing and he was getting all caught up in his thoughts... 

As he went to get up again something caught his eye. To the left of his shoes, a bit of the rug was bunched up. Rocinante raised his eyebrows. On a whim, he reached down and pulled it back. Just underneath it...did those floorboards look slightly off, compared to the rest? They didn’t budge when touched, but something didn’t seem quite right about them. 

He pulled back more of the rug to see that both the rug and the odd boards were under one leg of the couch. Clever.

Robin poked her head into the room. “Find anything in here?”

Rocinante pointed to the floorboards.

With a bit of effort, they slid the couch out of the way, off to the side, and rolled up the rug. From a glance nothing seemed off about the floorboards, sure. That was probably the point. Rocinante went to the spot with the seemingly normal boards and, after a bit of jiggling it around, pulled a patch of them up from the floor to reveal a small hidden area underneath it. 

Much unlike the secrets of Rain Dinners, this seemed more an afterthought than a purposeful decision upon the building’s creation, if the dirt, spiders, and thick cobwebs were anything to go by. It was dark and hard to see much within it beyond the entrance. Rocinante was a bit hesitant to stick his hand down there but he did so anyway, with a squeamish face that made Robin laugh.

“Certainly, I hope there aren’t any rat nests down there,” Robin said, earning her an annoyed look from Rocinante. She knelt down beside him with a grin. Now  _ really _ wasn’t the time.

His fingertips brushed plenty of dirt and grime, bits and pieces of what were probably food or coins that had fallen under the couch--or, well, that was what he was going to tell himself those things were. He leaned further in, up to his shoulder. The concrete foundation, some wooden boards--oh? Something metallic slid across the dirt when he touched it. He groped blindly for it.

Upon pulling it out, it turned out to be an old ammunition box. Worn by time and caked with dust, but still in decent condition. An antique. Rocinante coughed a few times as Robin dusted it off with just her hand.

“Now what might this be doing down here…”

The lid was easy enough to remove and was set aside. The contents weren’t terribly interesting; a flashlight, a fresh pack of batteries, a road atlas, a couple heavily dogeared novels, a couple cans of food...but underneath everything, there was a plastic bag filled with paperwork. When pulled out, unzipped, and turned upside down, among the various papers were multiple ID cards, credit cards, and other related items.

Each had a different name. Yet they all had photos of the same man on them.

“My my.” Robin picked one up to examine closer. “Seems Mr. Bones is the type to be prepared for everything.”

They decided to get up off of the floor and rummage through the items on the table instead. Robin laid each one out to see clearly. Five different aliases. A few forged birth certificates. Interestingly, going by the dates, Rocinante noticed that they were rather recently created. Maybe Daz had been preparing in the event of an emergency escape from Rain Dinners. He snorted. And rightfully so.

_ Not a bad place to hide all of this _ , Rocinante signed.

Robin nodded. “Though he probably wasn’t expecting to have a lock-picking ex-cop with a nose for secrets on his trail.”

Rocinante shrugged. If  _ he _ was going to hide a bunch of fake IDs and forged paperwork, he’d probably have done something similar. Hide it somewhere he had the keys to but where others might not think to look. He stared at the various faces of Daz Bones looking back up at him from the table with a determined look.

Follow the trail, they’d find Daz. And when they find Daz, they’ll find Crocodile. A surge of confidence filled his chest. Only a matter of time before Doflamingo turned up, and Law with him.


	30. Chapter 28

Spring was cold this year. Though he’d been anticipating a change of pace from the bleak winter scenery, the weather so far didn’t reflect the date on the calendar. The ground was damp, and the grass was still showing signs of having been marred by frost. Buds were only just starting to form. It was still chilly enough to wear a hat.

A bear hat, to be specific. With pom-pom ears.

“I take it back,” Smoker said as said ears bounced while Rocinante walked beside him. “That heart tassel hat isn’t so bad.”

_The girls picked it out_ , Rocinante signed with a grin. He adjusted the matching scarf with a tug.

“Could’ve fooled me, given _your_ taste in clothes.”

Rocinante gave him a playful shove. Even though it was cold, he couldn’t deny he was in fairly high spirits. Between the breakthroughs with Robin and the sunshine returning, things were starting to look up. He tucked his hands into his pockets. Smoker’s dog passed through his legs and pushed ahead of them, nose in the air. She stopped to sniff one of the posts along the trail. Despite the cold air around them, Smoker was remarkably underdressed, wearing little more than a pair of jeans and the casual sweatshirt that he usually jogged in.

“You’re damn lucky you retired,” Smoker said. “This case has me aging twice as fast.”

Rocinante looked at him and then away with a slow, awkward nod. Yes, yes. He’d almost forgotten that his life wasn’t supposed to be exciting anymore. Far as anyone knew, he was just relaxing at home, growing accustomed to his new life.

“Let me tell you, Cora,” Smoker went on. “When this case is over, I’m not spending another day in Punk Hazard if I can help it. Whole place is teeming with weirdos.” He huffed. “Remember Buggy? Imagine an entire town of Buggys.”

The mental image of several dozen clowns of varying sizes and ages made Rocinante snort.

“You think I’m joking, but like--It’s some kinda thing there, everyone’s dressed up in weird-ass costumes. Like a fuckin’ theme park ‘r something.” He shook his head. “Caesar fits right in with everyone there. He’s got an attitude to match. Drives me crazy listenin’ to him.”

He waved his hand and in a mocking voice said, “Joker? Joker who? I’m just a candy man. _Ugh_.”

Wanda’s ears perked up. She stared off into the distance, tail slowly wagging. Smoker followed her gaze with vague curiosity before he flinched. There was a red-haired man leaning against a post ahead of them. Dressed in casual clothes with a pendant hanging loosely around his head, he didn’t look like much. But the interesting X-shaped scar on his chin drew Rocinante’s attention.

“Hey. Tashigi said you liked walking this route,” the man said.

He was smiling. But as their eyes met, Smoker’s expression darkened. There was no time to dwell on any implications, however, as Rocinante felt Smoker grip his wrist and jerk him forward.

They pushed right past him, disregarding his friendliness. Rocinante couldn’t protest, really, as he had to focus on not tripping over his own feet while Smoker urged Wanda on. Though she complied, Wanda’s eyes were still on the stranger, who sauntered after them. Rocinante caught him waving out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you going to run off _every_ time I try to talk to you?” the man called to them. When Smoker ignored him, he spoke up again, “We used to be so close, you know.”

That made Smoker stop dead in his tracks. Rocinante wobbled a bit as he found his feet. He turned back toward the man, who stood a few feet from them respectfully. He raised an eyebrow. Why did he look so familiar?

“ _Used_ to,” Smoker grumbled. He turned around and met the man’s gaze with a scathing glare. “And whose fault is _that_ , Drake?”

Drake. Rocinante exchanged a look between the two other men before he focused on Drake himself. Ah, right. Bellemere had mentioned him before. Though he couldn’t remember the details, he was apparently of some use in the case. He tucked his hands into his pockets. Between the fact that few people signed and the fact that Smoker looked ready to strangle Drake with Wanda’s leash, it was probably best not to say anything.

Drake calmly mulled over Smoker’s statement, as if he was fully expecting the backlash. He toyed with the pendant around his neck, which was carved in the shape of some kind of reptilian skull.

“I know we parted on...less than amicable terms,” he began. “But...things are different now, aren’t they? You and I are working together again. Side-by-side, just like we used to.” He offered another small smile. “We can start over, can’t we?”

Smoker’s posture was tense and rigid, as if simply standing there filled him with rage. But it was different than what Rocinante had seen before, with things like Crocodile and the Joker case. Though the intensity was definitely present, his expression was lacking the white-hot anger. He was pissed off, alright, but there was something else there.

He could have sworn that Smoker looked wounded.

“So am I supposed to forget everything?”

His grip on Wanda’s leash tightened. Wanda whined and looked up at her owner.

“The things we were workin’ toward--all those goals we set, the time we dedicated to seeing ‘em through. How I stuck up for you again and again, despite everyone telling me not to, and you _still_ dropped me like deadweight the moment you got some hair-brained scheme.”

His steely stare cut into Drake’s calm demeanor.

“None of that matters to you, huh? We can just pretend nothin’ ever happened, _right_?”

It felt as though the air around them would ignite if someone lit a match. Rocinante held his breath and took a step back. Smoker was seething, fists clenched and pulled back slightly, like a spring-loaded trap. Rocinante’s eyes darted to Drake, who was regarding Smoker with annoyance. He had no idea what he’d do if a fight broke out. He wasn’t physically strong enough to stop Smoker, let alone this other man.

After a moment, Drake slumped forward a bit. He looked off toward the side of the pathway and scratched the back of his head.

“...Yeah. I made a mistake,” he admitted quietly. “I know.”

His shoes scuffed the ground as he shifted his weight between his legs. All eyes were on him, and he seemed to falter a bit under the intense scrutiny.

“Shouldn’t have done that. Not to you,” he continued. “I realize that now. And...I miss it, y’know? The old days. I miss _you_.”

Smoker stood up slightly straighter. If Rocinante had blinked, he may have missed it.

“I just want to make things right again. I want my best friend back, Smoker.”

It’s said with what sounded like sincerity, but Rocinante noticed Smoker’s shoulders sagged a bit. As the tension faded away, Smoker’s fists unclenched. He rubbed his face and sighed defeatedly.

“This is why I fucking chain smoke,” Smoker spat.

“Oh? It’s not because your name’s Smoker?”

Smoker let out a growl of irritation in response to Drake’s playful tone but his more relaxed mood remained.

“Hate that stupid joke,” he mumbled.

At that moment it seemed to just occur to Smoker that, yes, Rocinante was still standing there, and _yes_ , he’d heard everything that they had said. Smoker quickly regained his composure, cleared his throat, and then tugged Wanda’s leash with a gentleness much unlike his attitude minutes prior.

“I--Sorry,” he muttered to Rocinante, who merely nodded in understanding. “Let’s keep going.”

They started off, continuing down the path. But they made it only a few feet ahead before Smoker stopped. Drake was still trailing along behind them, head bowed slightly, looking rather sheepish. Smoker huffed.

“God no, we’re _not_ doing this tonight,” he said. “I’m way too pissed off to deal with you.”

“Right, yeah, sure.” Drake nodded. He stepped back to leave, paused, and then asked, “...We’re all meeting up this time next week, right? See you then?”

Smoker gave a grunt of acknowledgement and continued on his way. As they parted, Smoker rolled his eyes and muttered, “ _friend_ ,” under his breath.

Rocinante frowned. While he’d been friendly upon the start of their walk, Smoker seemed thoughtful, if not a bit on edge. However, Rocinante decided to wait until they were further down the path to tap Smoker on the shoulder.

“What?” Smoker responded a bit more gruffly than necessary.

Rocinante gestured behind them with his head then signed a quick question mark. Smoker scanned his face with narrowed eyes before exhaling loudly and shaking his head. Wanda walked back toward her owner and sat down at his feet. He reached down to scratch behind her ears. Though clearly reluctant, Smoker began to talk anyway.

“...We went to the police academy together, me ‘n him,” Smoker explained. “But even before that I knew him. Thought he was a decent guy. Ain’t sure anymore.” He stared down the path from where they’d come. “I’ll deal with him for now since we _apparently_ need him, but he’s better off forgotten.”

There was a long, heavy silence.

“...All that back there,” he said, voice suddenly quiet. “Don’t...don’t tell anyone about that, alright? You know I don’t like mixing work and personal shit.”

The way Smoker spoke about it made it sound like there was more. But the mood had plummeted and the expression on Smoker’s face was tired and weary. Rocinante simply nodded and decided to refrain from asking. Their walk continued down the winding path, nothing but the sound of twigs snapping, long-dried leaves crunching, and the wind rustling the branches of trees filling the silence.

Rocinante took in a breath, and then exhaled slowly.

It was tranquil. He’d been needing to simply spend some time away from the house, just to avoid the cramped space for a bit. Out here there was room to relax, clear his thoughts, and escape the world for a moment. Or, at least that had been the plan _prior_ to Drake showing up out of the blue and spoiling the mood. Rocinante watched Smoker as they walked. He was still rather tense, mind surely swimming with memories as he stared blankly out at Wanda.

It was interesting, Rocinante noted. For all the secrets about his past that he kept from Smoker, there appeared to be just as many little details he, too, kept locked away.

There was a sound in the woods. Smoker was immediately on guard.

“I swear to god--” He glared into the thicket. “Drake, if that’s you I’m gonna--”

Rocinante held up a hand to quiet him. He took a few hesitant steps forward. Was that...crying he heard?

He frowned thoughtfully and peered over a thick bush. Just behind the woods’ many dried brambles and the thick, droopy branches of a willow tree was a petite figure; a little girl with bright orange hair, who was sniffling and rubbing her eyes. From the look of things she’d fallen into the mud and skinned her knee. When she heard Rocinante, she inhaled sharply and stood up. But upon seeing him, she deflated a bit.

“...Oh,” she said with a sigh.

Rocinante exchanged glances with Smoker, whose harsh expression softened as he approached. The girl slipped around the dead weeds, ducking and pushing them aside as she came out onto the pathway. Rocinante eyed her. She looked perhaps a bit older than Nami, but it was striking how similar their hair color was.

“Guessing we ain’t who you wanted to see?” Smoker inquired.

She studied the two older men with wary, narrowed eyes. Then, she puffed up her cheeks at them. Despite perhaps barely being more than a third their height, she was still standing strong, as though she could wrestle either of them to the ground with minimal effort. Commendable, really, given that Rocinante once saw a girl start crying after seeing Smoker’s intimidating face.

“Talking to weird adults is bad,” she said, staring at them with a stern look. She put up her fists. “If you try anything funny, I’ll beat you up!”

“Got a good head on your shoulders, kid,” Smoker said, squatting down to look her in the eye. “But you don’t have to worry ‘bout us. You lucked out. We’re a couple of off-duty officers.”

“Uh-huh.” She put her hands on her hips. “Where’s your badge then?”

Smoker snorted and then glanced up at Rocinante with a grin.

“I like this kid.”

With that, he reached into his sweatshirt pocket and withdrew his wallet, pulling from it an ID card which he passed over to her. Rocinante smirked. Of course. Smoker wouldn’t go anywhere without some kind of police identification. Even on his leisure days he was still ready to work. She considered it a moment before passing it back.

“Well don’t you try anything funny anyway, Mr. Smoker. I’m still gonna fight,” she said.

Wanda trotted up to her, tail wagging. The girl’s defiant glare changed to bright-eyed wonder. She reached out to scratch behind Wanda’s fluffy ears, giggling when the dog came up and sniffed at her face. All the while she pet the dog, her eyes were trained on Rocinante, still watching him with the same, if not greater suspicion than she had with Smoker. He offered her his best friendly look.

“What about you then, huh?” she asked. “Who’re you?”

Rocinante opened his mouth and then closed it. She blinked at him. This little girl probably wouldn’t understand him, would she? Best not to bother. He mimed not being able to speak to her.

“Cora’s mute,” Smoker answered. “And would probably blow away in the wind like a leaf if you pushed him. Nothing to worry about.”

Rocinante frowned at him and crossed his arms, but couldn’t be too upset. It did make the girl laugh. Still. He could put up plenty of a fight, if need be. Smoker stood up again, tucking his ID card away safely within his pocket.

“So what happened?” he asked. “Get lost out here in the woods?”

“I was with my friends and they were being _mean_ ,” she grumbled. “Mean, no good boys...They said they wanted to play but then they ran off and left me!” She sniffed. “It was two on one, too...If my friends had been here, they’d’ve showed ‘em a thing or two…”

“Strength in numbers,” Smoker said with a nod. “Right line’a thought there. Next time you see them, show those fu--those kids what’s what, yeah?”

“Mhm! I’m gonna! I’m gonna go and find them, and when I do--I’ll--”

She turned in place, staring down both sides of the path, looking a bit mixed up. Rocinante couldn’t blame her. The area was fairly similar looking to someone who didn’t frequent the pathways and parks around town. She took too steps in one direction, halted, then took three steps in the other. Now looking a bit distressed, she wrung the hem of her dirty shirt.

“...Hmm…”

She scuffed her shoes against the wood chips at her feet. Rocinante turned to Smoker.

_There’s a picnic area nearby_ , he signed. _She’s a bit injured. Should we take a look at her first, before she runs off?_

“Ah, good idea.” Smoker nodded, then looked to the girl. “Hey, why don’t we get you cleaned up a bit? Then we’ll go find your friends.”

“Huh?” She blinked at them and then turned her gaze downward, to her filthy shirt, wounded knee, and dirt-coated legs. “...Oh.”

At the end of the trail, past the trail markers and toward one of the park’s restrooms was a drinking fountain. Luckily, it seemed as though the water had been turned back on. Rocinante pulled out a wad of tissues from his pocket and wet them lightly before walking over to where Smoker and the girl were seated. He knelt down and began wiping away the grime from her leg and skirt. She winced a bit. Rocinante immediately stopped.

“Doesn’t hurt, does it?” Smoker asked.

She shook her head. “Nah. Just cold,” she replied, watching Rocinante as he carefully resumed cleaning off the dirt around the now very red scrape on her knee. “I get scratches all the time and it doesn’t bother me. See?”

She held out her hands. Sure enough, there were several bandages around her stubby little fingers, on her dirty palm, and near her wrist, all of which she seemed proud of. Rocinante snorted out a laugh. There was absolutely no shortage of rowdy, adventurous kids in this area, were there?

Once the wound was cleaned at least somewhat, she pulled her knees back to dust off the rest of the dirt from her legs.

“I’m okay now,” she said. “Thanks, Mr. Cora!”

Rocinante merely nodded and stepped back, crumpling up the wet tissues to toss them away in a nearby trash can. With a quick review of the area, both Rocinante and Smoker came to the conclusion that there was, in fact, nobody else around. Surely if someone was waiting for her, they’d be in an easy to spot area, right?

“Alright. Where’d you leave your parents then, huh?” Smoker asked.

“Oh. My dad’s not here,” she replied. “He’s doing some boring stuff but he said I could play with my friends if I didn’t go too far.”

Smoker rolled his eyes and Rocinante had a feeling they were thinking something along the same lines; why the hell was Garp’s free-range child rearing technique catching on with half the damn town?

In the distance, two boys scampered along the sidewalk past them, laughing hysterically, sticks in their hands. They occasionally whirled around to whack said sticks against one another, or outright smack each other directly. The girl perked up when she heard them and turned around to see them. Suddenly, her eyes narrowed and her lips curved into a fierce scowl.

“ACE! _SABO_!!” she exclaimed.

Both boys flinched and turned around, eyes and mouths wide open.

“YOU DITCHED ME! I’M GONNA KICK _BOTH_ OF YOUR BUTTS!!”

She jumped from the bench and hit the ground in a running start. Ace and Sabo let out screeches of terror, dropped their sticks, and sprinted away as she barreled toward them yelling out her own battle cry. Though the two were speedy, it didn’t take long for the stampeding girl to catch up to them, taking one deadly stick weapon in each hand as she went.

“Ay--!”

But Smoker’s attempt to call out to her was in vain, as she and the others quickly ran out of sight. He let out a huff and crossed his arms. Wanda looked with him, letting out a noise that was a cross between a whine and a groan, clearly disappointed.

“Was gonna have one hell of a talk with that girl’s parents,” he grumbled. “I didn’t even catch what her name was…” He glanced at Rocinante, bemused. “Think she did that on purpose?”

Rocinante studied the concrete path off in the distance, listening for the muffled sounds of the children playing. Certainly she was smart, but not nearly so cunning. He tilted his head. Although, this _was_ his first time meeting her. And he did have experience with another precocious child, didn’t he...

He shook his head, a wistful smile gracing his features. No. Don’t start dwelling on that again.

_Let’s_ _head_ _back_ , he signed to Smoker. _I’ve had enough fresh air for today._


End file.
